Mutually Assured Destruction - Paramnesia
by ProblematicHayes
Summary: I thought back to his cold expression, and the way he seemed genuinely annoyed to find me in his proximity, as though I were a personal insult to him, and it was infuriating how easily I could recall his name then. His name was Peter Hayes and I was certain that I hated him. [Canon-divergence AU] [Attack simulation averted by full memory wipe]
1. Voorpret

Alright so here goes - this one will be pretty long, I've noticed in our small ship that we have a decent amount of fantastic hookup fics but nothing with a big, long winded story behind it. I want to see if I can't do that - plus, I like torturing myself. Please keep the Petris bashing out of the comments - I know the majority of this fandom aren't into the ship, but don't ruin it for those of us that are.

I'd love feedback, if you feel I'm not portraying a character correctly or if you'd like to see something happen (or even your speculations on what will happen) - your support helps to motivate me! As of right now I have a goal to update chapters once a week, usually every Wednesday.

I wanna send out a big thanks to a href=" /users/kirbyshinigami"Jess/a and Dem for helping me out with the plot and being my betas. I adore you both. I know next to nothing about the processes one takes to become a police officer, so I have to thank Dem for all the helpful information on that, as well!

So without further adieu, let's get this started shall we?

Voorpret

(n) Pre-fun, the sense of enjoyment felt before a party or event takes place.

* * *

My fingers were poised just above the keys as a blank screen stared me down without mercy. I couldn't remember hating an inanimate object more in my life than I did in that moment. I was sure I'd been there for, at least, half of the afternoon, where I'd typed and erased ten different introductory paragraphs, but nothing had sounded right. I was slowly circling into insanity. I grunted in frustration and pushed away from the desk, pressing my palms hard against my eyes in an attempt to block out the blank paper that was taunting me. I wasn't sure what was wrong, why I was so distracted - normally I had no problem writing these types of assignments - but I just couldn't get anything that sounded words just wouldn't come out, regardless of my efforts. Finally I dropped my hands from my face and shot the computer a nasty look, as though this was all the fault of a machine, not my own shortcomings. It was a ridiculous notion, but it made me feel better.

"If you're not going to cooperate then I don't need you, anyway," I grumbled, feeling childish in my anger, before pushing the power button a little harder than necessary, just out of spite. Watching the screen turn black made me feel worse than I already did - through the reflective surface I was able to see that my door was open and I had a visitor. Great.

"Thought you were writing a paper?" I groaned at her voice, spinning my chair around to glare at the knowing face of my dearest friend and greatest annoyance, which was currently twisted into a playful smirk. It was just like her to sneak up on me in my moment of weakness.

"I was. I'm uh..I'm finished with it, now." My response was weak - I knew it and so did she, but I had nothing better to say in my defense. leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, watching her as she let herself into my room and sat on my bed, but it was difficult to look stern while wearing bed slippers. I doubt she'd take anyone seriously in my attire - let alone me. She must have thought similarly to me, because a look of amusement filled her eyes and I knew she didn't believe me one bit. I have no idea how or why, but for as long as I'd known her, Christina had been this crazy walking lie detector who constantly called me on my bullshit. I'd grown to love it for the most part, but in moments like this it could be infuriating. She raised her brow, but didn't contradict me - instead she clasped her hands together and appeared pleased with herself. That look usually meant I wouldn't like the next words that came out of her mouth, but who knew, maybe I'd be wrong for a change, maybe she'd have some amazing words of wisdom.

"So - that means you're free now, doesn't it?"

Guess not.

The look on her face was enough to make my heart plummet down into my stomach - I was reminded, suddenly, as to why I'd been here in the first place, determined to write my paper. Alarm bells were blaring, warning me to come up with an excuse quickly, but unfortunately my brain and my mouth didn't seem to be working together, so I was left with nothing. I sighed in defeat, hanging my head. Admittedly, there was some - very small - part of me that was eager for a change of scenery. The girl in me who craved spontaneity was screaming to be let out. Maybe, I thought, I could give her what she wanted for a change. Where was the harm in it? College was nearly over for me and, sure, I'd managed to fight off the stress and the insane amount of work, but in the process I'd successfully isolated myself from any kind of social life that didn't involve studying. Since I'd started the university three and a half years ago, I'd made exactly four friends, and, while I had managed to learn a handful of my fellow classmates' names, that was as far as it went. I could sit and blame all that on a lot of things - wanting to focus on my goals, keeping up my grades, so on and so forth - but it was more than that. Maybe it was time to admit that to myself.

Somehow, I'd gone from arguing with a desktop computer to battling myself over the anxiety of being in a crowd and the disappointment of staying in once again while Christina went out and had fun. I considered, for a few moments, taking the low road and hiding indoors - in not taking risks so close to the end of the semester - it was long enough for me to know, with clear certainty, that I absolutely did not want to do that. I didn't want to be a coward for the rest of my life. Something about staying in, solely because I was afraid of what could happen, made me feel like I was betraying someone - or something - it made me feel small, useless. I hated it. That undefinable something sparked a familiar ball of fire in my gut. Determination. Was I really going to be weak willed and let the anxiety that I'd come to associate with fun control me forever? With a burst of confidence that I couldn't quite recognize as my own, I looked up and smiled at Christina. I was still sitting in my desk chair in my pajamas, but it was a start. She grinned back at me.

* * *

"I suppose it does."

As I was faced with my reflection, I recalled for about the fifteenth time since agreeing to go out, why I'd been avoiding all of this. Christina's makeovers were always a little overbearing. As usual where mirrors, or really any reflective surface, were concerned, I felt an inexplicable pull in my gut that told me to look away – but I stared into my own eyes defiantly, tonight I was being strong, and that was as much a part of it as anything else. As a stipulation for our night out, she made me agree to let her choose my outfit, after all what did I know about being presentable in public? This apparently included the need for makeup. She had argued that I never let her do this anymore and, rather than try to worm my way out, I had accepted defeat. Now I was having second thoughts.

My eyes were lined with dark makeup and my hair was loose, falling in a halo of gold around my face artfully. Christina had teased it up so that it looked playfully messy, intentionally tussled. It cascaded neatly around my shoulders in a way I'd never be able to replicate alone. The color contrast brought out the blue in my usually cloudy eyes. I hardly recognized the girl with the severe eyes and clothes that clung to, rather than hid, any hint of curves she might have had, as myself. I considered complaining that the top was cut lower than I'd have liked, that the jeans were just on the side of too tight, but I swallowed the words instead. Something about the fact that she'd dressed me in all black made me feel powerful - I didn't want to lose that feeling. As I took another moment to examine my features, a phrase bubbled to the surface in a voice I knew wasn't my own. _You're..striking._ I got the feeling that Christina had said those words to me before - she probably had, it sounded like something she'd say - but I couldn't find the memory those words belonged to.

"Oh come on, don't look so stoic, Tris. It's not like we're going off to battle. You and I haven't gone out in _ages_ \- at least pretend you're excited. " Christina snapped me out of my reverie, rolling her eyes. For some reason the phrase made my stomach turn, rather than eliciting laughter as it probably should have. Something felt so..wrong about it. Out of place. I couldn't quite shake the effect her words had on me, but rather than linger on it, I lifted my chin a bit higher and followed her out of the bathroom without another glance at the girl in the mirror we were leaving behind. My turmoil slowly began to fade.

"Okay, okay, I'll try my best to be at least a little fun tonight," I offered, though I couldn't be sure I wouldn't end up leaving early to be alone. Christina beamed a smile my way, lacing her arm through mine, so it must have been good enough for her. It was easy to relax into her friendly embrace, even if I still felt a strange twinge in my stomach at how easily she touched people. We stepped outside into the last rays of the evening, the scene was comforting compared to the unforgiving screen I'd been staring at for the last few hours, and it helped my mood almost immediately. I vowed to myself that I would try to be positive tonight. Emphasis on try.

All around us there were students going to and from classes or gathering for a night out on the edge of campus, chattering happily to one another. Christina and I stopped to do a double check for wallets and keys to the apartment. Once we were positive that we'd gotten everything, she took the lead, all but dragging me down the sidewalk with our arms still linked. Her free hand was a flurry of motion as she rapidly responded to, and read over texts. I found myself wondering how she managed that so easily in one hand, but didn't bother to ask. The thought occurred to me that I should try texting more - actually send more than a few brief messages - then I'd get the hang of it.

"Will said he and Al would meet us at the Pit." I tried not to focus on the bubble of tension growing in my chest at the thought of all the people I'd soon be sharing space with, smiling in her direction instead - I hoped she couldn't see through to my nervousness. It must have been convincing enough, because she returned it easily, looking forward again without any hesitation.

"That's good – It'll be nice to hang out with them again," I was surprised to find that I meant it. I missed my friends. Fear and anxiety mingled together with a hint of anticipation at this point and I was practically vibrating from the mixture. Christina grinned from ear to ear, sending another text before tucking her phone away for good. She turned to look at me then, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. It was comforting.

"It's great that you're coming out tonight, Tris, we've missed you," Her tone was surprisingly serious, which left me thinking that maybe I'd been worrying her - I made a silent promise to myself that I'd work on that, I didn't want anyone who cared about me to feel distressed just because social outings made me uncomfortable. The thought didn't sit right with me.

"Yeah well, who else is going to keep you from drinking your wallet, or more realistically _Will's_ wallet, down the drain?" I teased with a laugh, looking around me at how everyone else seemed so happy and comfortable. It helped to make me feel better - like their good moods could rub off on me. The light, by now, was an almost golden color from the sunset, and there was the faintest hint of a chill on the breeze. I could taste the beginning of summer in the air. Then the stench of cigarette smoke met my senses and it was gone. My chest tightened up and I felt the doubts come creeping in from all sides again - the apprehension. I could still turn back, if I wanted to. _Breathe Tris._

Suddenly Christina craned her neck, so I did the same, looking up at what should have been just another skyscraper, covered in windows that reflected the world around us – but there was more to the building than its shiny exterior. I'd only been there once before, but I easily remembered every detail - how unusual it had been. Now that we'd arrived at our destination, I felt a tingle run down my spine, to the tips of my fingers - I felt eager. I was surprised to find that my apprehension had been traded in for eager excitement - the combination of that feeling with my mingling fears was making it hard to breathe. I was ready to burst in those doors and back into an environment I had no reason to miss the way I did in that moment. I could tell that Christina felt the same giddiness I was experiencing - we rushed forward as a pair, clinging to one another.

Despite my sudden enthusiasm, I was quietly battling with the meek part of myself that still wanted to run away from the steady stream of bodies around us, to take the easy way out. The part of me that craved freedom was filled with rage at the mere suggestion of hiding - of not facing my fears. More easily than I expected to, I gave into the heat in my veins and pushed myself further inside, letting my adventurous side win. Just like the first time I'd been here over a year or so ago, I found myself among a crowd of people that ranged from total strangers to faces I'd seen around campus; _un_ like the first time, an overwhelming sense of familiarity crashed into me, catching me off guard and taking my breath. I knew it was abnormal to feel so strongly about somewhere I'd only ever been in _once,_ but I savored the rush of emotion that this place caused in me all the same. Being there felt good, really, really good. That terrified me - it thrilled me _._ I was home.

I walked mechanically through the lobby, heading further down the rabbit hole before we finally came to a suspended staircase that separated the top portion of the building from the part I was really eager to get to. The floor of the uppermost part of the building was entirely glass, allowing for a view of the unique counterpart below, the actual club. It was bustling with activity, unsurprisingly. We finally made it down the first set of stairs and onto a secondary flight that was slightly rougher. This set of stairs had been carved out of the side of the wall – everything changed from being clean and organized to rough, rustic, and feral as we left the top portion of the building. I fell in love with it all over again as I drank in my surroundings. The walls were rock, and carved into them were nooks and crannies filled with pool tables and booths for anyone who didn't feel like staying at the bar or dancing down on the main floor.

Protruding from the walls were railings - shiny, metal, and new. Something inside of me protested at the sight - it told me that they didn't belong in this place, but I wasn't entirely sure why. Obviously such a dangerous building, designed for inebriated people, required safety features to keep patrons from careening onto the floor from the ledges. Elsewise they'd all be dead or have broken limbs by this point. I tried to shake the feeling of irritation while simultaneously opting not to use the railings by the stairs, moving quickly as pebbles scattered beneath my feet. I watched as Christina jumped off of the third to last step into the arms of a sturdy blonde with a familiar crease between his brows. It was impossible to tell his eye color in the dim lighting, but I knew from years of experience that they were a soft, jade green - Will. Behind him stood another man, nearly a foot taller and impossible to ignore in a crowd. He had a mop of brown hair on his head and wide brown eyes to match. If it weren't for the fact that he was incapable of keeping eye contact with any one person for more than a fraction of a second, he could have been intimidating. Instead, he was more of a gentle giant.

"Hey Will, Al," I nodded to them, grinning as my feet finally found their way to the floor. Now that we were on the main floor of the club, the atmosphere was noticeably different. Compared to outside the contrast was as clear as day and night. The bar couldn't have been more aptly named - it was a wide cavern peppered with patrons experiencing various levels of intoxication. Music blared all around us, but you'd be hard pressed to find where it was coming from. On the other side of the vast area was an older railing, worn and rusted, but sturdy, and a bridge that crossed it's expanse. Even from where I stood I could hear the sound of rushing water from that direction, and I knew without checking that there was a river below. I'd seen it the last time I'd been here, but I didn't feel any compulsion to go and look at it again. The water rushed by mercilessly fast there - if someone were to dive in, their chances of survival would have been slim to none. The whole thing made my skin crawl and filled me with a sense of foreboding. I was there to have a good time, so it was probably not a good idea to dwell on that place - already my skin had started to crawl. I forced my gaze back to the rest of the room.

The walls were splashed with various neon lights that painted pools of unnatural colors at odd angles all around us. Again, I found myself thinking that the vibrant shades were all wrong - that the only light should have come from the glass ceiling above and a few dim fixtures. That it was too extravagant for such a place. Try as I might, I couldn't figure out what made me feel so strongly, why I felt it was my place to pass judgement on the things that gave The Pit its ambiance, or what they felt was necessary to protect their paying customers, but I opted to ignore the niggling voice that picked out the tiny "problems" and focused on my friends instead. That was why I was here, right? To socialize and have fun, not to tell people how to run their own business. The air in the cavern was cold and damp; I took a few moments to breathe it all in. I was filled with longing, and a sense of unity that I couldn't quite explain. The smells of the actual cavern were dulled by the undertone of sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes, but it was still there - bringing a smile to my face. Even while I focused on ignoring the pulsing wave of bodies dancing in the center of the cavern, I found it easier to smile here than I'd expected.

"It's nice to see you out and about again, Tris!" Will chirped pleasantly, pulling me back into the now, where he and the others were looking at me expectantly. I laughed nervously, lifting my hand to the back of my neck. They were happy to see me - which only made my smile bigger. Maybe this had been a pretty good idea after all - I was already in a much better mood than I had been when Christina had found me brooding in my room.

"Well, it was this or work on a paper for Narcotics," I explained with a shrug, letting my hand fall back to my side - that was all I needed to say in my defense for them to groan in mutual understanding. Clearly they'd been having just about as much luck with the current assignment as I was. Thinking back over how that had sounded incredibly rude I felt a rush of shame burn my cheeks, and quickly continued, "I mean that, and I've really missed hanging out with you guys." They grinned at my words, seeming to perk up as they mirrored the words back to me eagerly. I needed to get better at this whole friendly conversation thing. I definitely didn't want any of them thinking that I was using them as some kind of distraction, that I was only out because I had nothing better to do. That wasn't fair to them. As it was, thanks to the differences in our schedules, I already almost never saw any of them outside of our rushed study circles and the occasional class that was shared. I didn't want to risk losing them altogether just because I was awful at social cues - and socializing all together, really.

Part of me knew I was being paranoid - they understood better than anyone how busy we all were, but I still felt like I'd been neglectful. Each of us were seeking some version of a career in law enforcement, which was probably the only reason we ever interacted with one another in the first place. Christina wanted to work with abused children while Will's goals shot a little higher, aiming for the big jobs working for the government directly. As far as I knew Al just wanted to be a police officer, and, honestly, I just dreamed of a decent position higher up in the ranks - not at the levels Will was looking for, but not as low as Al, either. Which was really just a weak way of saying I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do, other than succeed. The memory of our first few weeks together flashed into my head and brought a smile to my face - we had been a lot less convinced of our futures then - we were just a bunch of nervous freshman desperate to find kinship in such a foreign setting. I think, in a way, we were still those hopeless, lonely kids. I knew I was.

"Let's grab a booth before they're all gone!" Christina quickly grabbed hold of the situation and, by extension, the rest of us, leading us up another set of carved out steps as we rushed towards one of the small alcoves that still had an unoccupied booth. Once we were standing on solid ground again, she playfully bumped her hip against Will's - Al and I simultaneously found one another's gazes and rolled our eyes with matching smirks. It wasn't possible to be any more transparent about their flirtation, but the pair still weren't willing to admit their feelings - not to one another and absolutely not to us. They'd been like this for months with no sign of relief in sight - which only made the entirety of their situation more frustrating and amusing for those of us spectating. It was one of the biggest things Al and I were able to bond over. We even had a bet going on for how long it would take them to finally confess. I watched Chris as she moved to sit at a booth, leaving me the outside seat - she knew me so well. Before the guys could sit, though, she threw her hands up as though to make them halt. It worked.

"Boys buy the first round, right?" Christina asked with a deliberate innocence on her face that was clearly feigned, even I could see that, and I wasn't even a walking lie detector like she and Al were. Al smirked, stuffing his hands in his pockets, but he didn't argue. With a dramatic roll of his eyes Will turned on his heel to go back the way we'd come, calling over his shoulder to her jokingly,

"As long as you _swear_ you're actually going to pay for the next one!"

"On my honor!" If I knew anything about her, that was a bold faced lie. Will and Al would end up buying the majority of the drinks, though I wouldn't let the them do it all, I had my own spare change for living expenses. Usually it was spent on the occasional order of fast food, or new sneakers or something, but I figured I could splurge if it meant equality between friends. Or, more aptly, if it meant making sure Al didn't make offhand comments about being more than happy to pay for my tab. That felt too much like a date.

"I..actually sort of missed this place," I commented softly, giving The Pit another once over, more out of habit than anything – I didn't recognize any of the faces out on the dance floor, but that wasn't exactly surprising, due to my lack of social interaction. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Christina was doing much of the same. She wasn't staring into the crowd of people, but at the walls and the bridge that crossed the river on the far side of the room with wide, curious eyes. She was just as eager to drink in our surroundings as I had been.

"It's so weird, but I know what you mean, I love this club – it's like, I'm _supposed_ to be here, you know?" I wasn't sure if finding out that she felt the same as I did terrified or relieved me, but I nodded all the same. It was a strange feeling, knowing that I wasn't the only one that had an unusual sense of belonging associated with The Pit. I was torn between feeling a rush of affection, of kinship, for her, and discomfort at not knowing what exactly that meant. Did that discredit the special feeling I had? Maybe, if she felt it, too, then it was just a case of really, really good decorators and an awesome location. After a few dizzying moments I decided not to over analyze it and instead grinned at her, choosing to enjoy the fact that we were alike in something. As if to make myself feel better, or maybe to convince myself of it, I voiced my suspicions.

"Well, if they aren't making the atmosphere desirable, then they aren't exactly doing their jobs right, are they?" She thought over it for a moment before nodding as though she agreed with me - that it made perfect sense. Thankfully the subject was laid to rest when Will and Al reappeared with two pitchers, one filled with a greenish liquid and the other a deep brown, and four tall glasses - our distraction had arrived. I'd never been happier to see a mixed drink in my life. The green liquid, a whiskey sour, was for Christina and I while Al and Will shared a mixture of whiskey and brown soda. From my left Christina whooped with pleasure and patted the table eagerly, ready to get started. I chose to pour the drinks without even thinking about it, filling everyone's glass before my own. Something about that felt important, familiar even. I felt a prick of annoyance that I couldn't quite place - like the idea of serving everyone before myself was something I shouldn't do. I wasn't given much time to worry over it, though, because Will's glass was raised in the air and everyone else was following suit, so I joined in. I saw Christina's grin and prepared for her to make a jab at someone, good naturedly, of course. More than likely it would be me.

"To getting Tris out of her cave of solitude, I deserve a trophy!"

That was about what I'd expected.

"To surviving finals!" I added laughingly, sticking my tongue out her with an air of defiance.

"I can drink to both of those," Will chuckled, causing me to laugh again, it felt good. Healthy. The liquid in their cups quickly vanished - I had to take two or three big gulps to catch up with them. The burn was softened by a lemony soda, but I still cringed as it rolled down my throat and filled my stomach with heat; the bitter aftertaste wasn't something I'd been able to adapt so far. Al was the one to fill our glasses next, looking up at me with a fond expression that I wasn't entirely comfortable with, so I chose to glance off to the side instead of meeting it. If the moment was uncomfortable or strange, no one seemed to notice or mention it - we just kept rolling through the motions.

"So did you guys have Sergeant Coulter in class today?" Al cleared his throat and asked, his tone nervous and timid - I found myself annoyed by it, thinking someone his size should have been more confident. Shame burned in my gut alongside the alcohol, and I made myself look up at him and smile - this was my _friend_. The question should have been asked happily - with some kind of eagerness in the mix; having the opportunity to meet with a Sergeant and make a first impression on them should have been an exciting experience, but each of us stayed quiet - except for Will, who grunted with irritation. I found myself silently agreeing with his sentiment. That was really the only way to respond to the question. I sipped at my drink, and waited for the complaints to start rolling in.

"I don't understand how someone like _him_ could be promoted to _Sergeant_ \- and so young! He's such an egotistical dick," Each of us laughed - I couldn't have argued even if I wanted to, he was absolutely right. I looked down into my cup before taking another long drink, my tongue had become slightly more numb to the taste by this point, so it was beginning to taste better. The officer in question had stepped into my Criminal Procedure class earlier that day. He'd been quiet at first, observing, before giving us a speech about what we could expect out of the academy in a few weeks, if we chose to go. He was pretty harsh, and not in the overly passionate about their cause way - it was more like he didn't expect anyone to meet his standards.

"Because he's top quality ass kisser, that's why," Christina offered, a sneaky grin on her face.

"I heard he was second in his group of graduates from the academy, that he lost out to some guy who works in security now. So he had to be doing _something_ right." I offered quietly, but even I didn't fully believe that. If rumors were to be believed, ranking up didn't always take into consideration your talents so much as your willingness to grovel to the right people. I remembered feeling unnerved by him. Sergeant Eric Coulter, I learned, had a terrifying way of staring right through you, like he was slowly peeling you open and seeing right into your weakest places. The number of piercings in his face did absolutely nothing to improve the discomfort he inspired. The memory of him made my skin crawl. I chose to stare into a neon orange light across the way in hopes of forgetting his piercing stare. Rather than let the conversation continue to focus on someone so unpleasant, I decided to change the topic, blinking away the blare of orange burned into my retinas.

"Have you guys finished up your internship hours?" They all seemed perfectly willing to divert their attention from the Sergeant, and I found myself relaxing as each of them took turns discussing who they'd been paired up with, and what it had been like. For the most part I'd heard all of it before, but it was nice to talk about something positive all the same. Then it was my turn to talk about my own experience, which wasn't necessarily bad, but I didn't feel that I learned very much from it. I had been on more patrols than I could count, but my assigned officer wasn't a very serious person. Just about as soon as his name passed my lips, Zeke, as he'd requested I call him, I regretted bringing this up. I hadn't meant to call him by his first name - to sound so informal - but it was enough to garner that sneaky grin on Christina's face. I groaned. We'd had this discussion before. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Al seemed slightly more stiff now. Odd.

"Ooh, so you're on a first name basis with him?" I scowled, annoyed to feel the blush creeping up my neck at her suggestion - even if what she was hinting at wasn't true, it was still enough to bring heat to my cheeks. I'd always blushed too easily - another flaw on the ever growing list. Leave it to Chris to know just the best ways to embarrass me. Sure, even I couldn't deny that Zeke was attractive - he was one of those people that knew they looked good, and that somehow only made it more prominent. Confidence or what have you. Did that mean I flirted with him? Absolutely not - even if I had wanted to, I'd never been capable of that kind of thing, it just wasn't something I'd been good at. Plus, the guy had a steady girlfriend and was my mentor. There was absolutely no way I would have ran the risk of scoring a bad reputation with the entire precinct I wanted to work at before I even made it into the academy.

"Not in the way you're thinking, little miss nosy," I replied smoothly, trying to sound like she hadn't gotten me all worked up - my voice still cracked though, "Unlike some people, I don't confuse work with play, we did the same thing everyone else was doing, nothing more - nothing less" She knew this was true, I'd already told her everything in annoying detail just to prove I wasn't lying, besides, if I had been she would've known it - but she still deflated with a slight pout. Apparently it was disappointing that I behaved in my same boring, safe way all the time. I never had any fun stories for her to gush with me about. Oh well. I could feel the heat in my cheeks easing up and managed to relax a little, but one look at Al brought the blood rushing back in the form of anger. He looked relieved - _proud_ even - and suddenly I wished I would have done something with Zeke, just to wipe that look off of his face. I think he noticed my irritation, because suddenly his face fell and he stared at the table.

Instead of letting the anger boil and ruin my good night, I pushed myself away from the booth while pointedly not looking at him. I knew my mouth was set into a hard line, and I could see the way Christina was suddenly very uncomfortable while Will shot me a blissfully clueless, curious look. I didn't check to see whatever expression was on Al's face - I didn't want to know. I tipped my glass back and drained it, not even cringing as it burned on the way down. The feeling was welcome at the moment. I plopped it down on the table, harder than I'd intended to, and grabbed for our empty pitchers, trying not to act as angry as I felt. It was ridiculous to be that upset just because Al was glad I didn't have anything going on with Zeke, but it felt slightly overbearing.

"It's my turn to get drinks, you can pay next, Chris," I narrowed my eyes at her in what I hoped was a playful way, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice - this seemed to make her relax and Will grinned from ear to ear at the notion of more drinks. She waved her hand dismissively, laughing, and started a debate on which of their assigned officers had taken them to the best restaurants. Typical. It was impossible not to smile at the scene, which was a good start towards quelling my flare of anger. This time I took the steps a little more carefully, though I still refused to use the railings - I was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol and while I wasn't yet buzzed, I was dangerously close to that point. The change in temperature down on the floor of The Pit made my skin flush with heat as I carefully weaved my way through the gyrating bodies towards my goal. One more set of roughly carved stairs later found me at the bar. I made it in one piece, so that was as good a victory as any. I enjoyed the cool air here after the swampy environment of the dance floor.

My eyes landed on my reflection behind the bartender and I felt a shock in my gut before tearing them away to stare at the ceiling. I wondered then, for the hundredth time, what it was about mirrors that made me so uncomfortable, but had yet to find an answer. Christina blamed it on repressed childhood trauma, which was just like her to use me as practice for psychoanalysis, but how would I know if that were true or not anyway? If it were repressed, I wouldn't exactly remember it. I finally chose to divert my eyes from both the ceiling and the mirror, focusing on resting both pitchers carefully on the counter. When the bartender came up to me, I smiled and politely ordered the same thing as before - he nodded and fixed me with a knowing smirk. He had a shaven head and multiple tattoos - it felt like he belonged here, and I couldn't help but smile at him as he turned away. I turned to press my back to the counter, telling myself that I wasn't avoiding the mirror ringed with bottles - I was just surveying the place my subconscious was so quick to label as home. It was a good thing no one asked me to defend myself, I'd never been a very good liar.

It only took a matter of seconds for me to regret staring into the crowd of dancers below the alcove where they kept the bar - already I could feel a distinct blush burning in my face. Some - most, really- of the people in the crowd were moving together in ways that I wouldn't have labeled as dancing. I wouldn't have labeled it appropriate for public, either, but I'd been told many times that I was a prude, so maybe that was just me - maybe that was the norm and I was strange. Rather than watch the embarrassing displays below, I glanced first to my left, and then to my right, where my gaze fell on a vaguely familiar person. There was a guy sitting at the end of the bar on his own, hunched over a drink. I was almost positive we had a class together, but I wasn't sure which one it was - I couldn't recall his name or why looking at him filled me with a wave of irritation, but he had my attention. Even though I couldn't immediately bring any interaction we'd had to the forefront of my mind, I got the impression our encounters weren't pleasant ones.

I decided to focus on his appearance, rather than my growing anger. His hair shone, even in the dull light, and his eyes were unfocused - he had yet to notice me, thankfully. He stared at nothing, or at least I couldn't pinpoint the object of his attention. His left hand loosely held the rim of his glass, which was half full of a liquid the color of honey, hovering just above the counter, and his other arm was tucked against his chest. His clothes were dark - a sweater with thin lines through it and a pair of jeans that I couldn't tell you the color of thanks to the low lighting - and hinted at coiled muscles below the cloth; he couldn't be described as built but he wasn't scrawny, either. It didn't seem like there was anyone accompanying him. I thought that, maybe, I should have felt pity for him, but only experienced a prickle of annoyance tingling up my spine. I didn't have any urge to approach him at all - but that wasn't entirely surprising, I didn't often feel the impulse to talk to strangers. Call it self preservation, or cowardice, I couldn't tell you which.

The sound of a heavy container being rested on the bar to my left caught me off guard and made me flinch. I quickly turned to face the bartender, fingering through the large bills for the correct amount I owed in my wallet. I laid down a little more than necessary and smiled up at him - he seemed surprised at my politeness.

"Keep the change," I murmured, wanting to get away from the bar and from the guy at the end of it - an unintentional glance into the mirror told me that his head was lifted but I didn't look long enough to see why. Something about him was making me angrier and angrier the longer I stayed in his presence - my hands were trembling. The more I thought on it, the more I was sure I could remember him being a pretty big jerk in some classes, I was sure he was in the same program as I was - most of the people in our college were - but there was nothing specific enough to warrant the kind of response I was having to him. He must have been looking my way, because the moment I made myself glance his way again, our eyes met, and not in a good way. I couldn't tell you what color his were, in the dim light they appeared to be black pits. An involuntary shudder ripped through me. The look he gave me was cruel, like he was sizing me up as a possible threat or prey. I was given the sinking impression that he didn't like me any more than I liked him. It shouldn't have been, but the prospect of a stranger hating me was offensive.

I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, but I remembered thinking, suddenly, that the center of this guy's attention was not at all a good place to be. His eyes followed me, unflinching, as I turned slightly to grip the handles of each pitcher - I was determined to ignore him and, by extension, the burning rage in my stomach. Before I looked away, I could just see that the corner of his mouth was curled up into a smirk - then he lifted his glass and covered it. With a huff of indignation, I tore my eyes away and squared my shoulders, it was time to go back to our booth before I started to worry my friends, anyway. As I left, I could swear I felt his eyes burning into the back of my head the entire time, but I didn't spare a backward glance to check. For some reason that felt too much like I'd be giving him some kind of satisfaction. Once I found my way back to our booth, Al rose to help me sit the pitchers down, I couldn't find it in me to be angry at him after the bar, so I just thanked him as I caught the end of a heated debate between Christina and Will. It helped erase the anger as I roll my eyes alongside Al.

Some things never change.

* * *

Will and Christina's argument turned out to be over who had a higher tolerance for alcohol - to the extreme of challenging one another to multiple rounds of shots - Al and I were christened the "judges". This went on for a good hour or so - I stopped drinking for fear that none of us would be able to leave if at least one of us wasn't sober. Al followed suit. Will technically won, just because he was able to finish his final shot whereas Christina spat hers out, but both of them were equally inebriated. The pair of idiots suddenly broke into fits of laughter - over what, I couldn't be sure - which was as good of a sign as any that it was time for us to leave - I'd stayed much longer than originally intended, anyway. Getting out of The Pit was much more difficult with two people who could barely stand on their own, but somehow we managed it. The chill of the night was a shock after being inside a club full of people for the last few hours, but I welcomed it. The bracing cold helped to clear my head the rest of the way.

The walk back was filled with laughter and the occasional stumble that had either myself or Al nearly dropping our drunken friends, but eventually I recognized the street that would lead us back to mine and Chris' apartment. I had Christina draped over my shoulders, which was difficult in her current state - she was a giggling mess who seemed determined to trip over her own feet - but I managed to keep her upright as I glanced at our friends. I stopped short at the fork where Al and Will would continue straight while we would need to veer to the right, anticipating AL's words before he spoke them.

"You sure you don't need me to take you all the way to your place? I'd hate if something happened to either of you." He was being sincere and polite, I should have been flattered, but I found myself irritated that he thought we couldn't take care of ourselves. Or..well, that I couldn't take care of us, Chris definitely would not have been much help in her current state. Instead I smiled, and shook my head, starting to turn towards our street.

"No, no, it's fine really. We've got this, you just focus on getting that one safely home." I was lucky to have been saddled with Christina since we lived together, Al would have to drop off the poor drunken Will and then walk another two blocks before he could go to bed. He looked as tired as I felt.

"Oh, well..if you're sure. Just uh, text me, let me know you made it home okay?"

"Sure thing! Good luck, Al," I waved him off, walking away before he could keep up the conversation - he looked like he wanted to say something, but was interrupted by Will proclaiming that he needed to vomit. Yep. I had been very, very lucky with taking care of Christina. She cried loud, embarrassing goodbyes over our shoulders to the guys that made me drag her just a bit faster. Not for the first time since moving in, I felt a wave of gratitude that we'd scored a ground floor apartment, as it made this entire process a lot more manageable - though, she still made the entire affair far more difficult than it needed to be. After some struggling over getting her changed into pajamas and making her brush her teeth, I was finally able to put her to bed with two aspirin and a tall glass of water. With that taken care of I focused on my own hygiene, and getting ready for bed - I'd almost forgotten how irritating removing makeup was until I had the black stuff smeared down my cheeks. I remembered my promise to text Al as I was settling into bed and grabbed for my phone, cursing under my breath as the blinding screen assaulted my eyes in the otherwise dark room. When my eyes had recovered enough to actually see what I was doing I shot him a quick text and curled up under my comforter.

[12:48AM] Me: _Made it home and put her to bed with no broken limbs. I deserve a medal._

[12:52AM] Al: _the package is delivered. who needs a medal when you have us?_

[12:52AM] Me: _Yeah yeah, the true virtue is friendship. Thanks Officer Sunshine._

[1:00AM] Al: _I'm having a heart attack - tris prior made a joke._

[1:01AM] Al: _Made it home ok_

[1:03AM] Me: _Don't die, who will laugh at Will and Chris with me?_

[1:04AM] Me: _Good. Go to bed. Night._

As I put my phone away I heard it buzz again - rather than checking it I just plugged in my charger and burrowed further under my covers. Knowing everyone was taken care of and safe left me with a clear conscience and a nagging weight of exhaustion. I was absolutely ready for a good sleep after the night I'd had. It was only once I'd closed my eyes, close to drifting off, that a memory floated up to the surface of narrowed green eyes and a cruel smirk. I'd completely forgotten about the incident at the bar until that moment, but it was suddenly fresh again, and I felt a familiar burn of anger in a matter of seconds. I thought back to his cold expression, and the way he seemed genuinely annoyed to find me in his proximity, as though I were a personal insult to him, and it was infuriating how easily I could recall his name then. How could I have forgotten someone who was so especially talented at getting under my skin?

His name was Peter Hayes and I was certain that I hated him.

* * *

Alright so expect another chapter up in a week's time! Tell me what you think in the comments, you can also shoot me asks over on my a href=" .com"tumblr/a I've reserved specifically for my ! I'm sorry if things feel a little slow, I'll pick up the pace as quickly as I can without hurting the build of the story.


	2. Sweven

Sweven

(n) A vision seen in sleep; a dream

* * *

I could feel my heart pulsating in my throat as I heard rapid footfalls surrounding me, the sound of shoes slapping the pavement rising to a crescendo. The familiarity of it all threatened to suffocate me and I was overcome with a sudden, inexplicable giddiness. I was aware of an ache in my legs and a burning in my lungs, and felt more alive than I could ever remember having felt before. The collection of noise around me became people, there was a buzz of excitement that was nearly palpable rolling off of the. It seeped into my core, weighing me down like lead, while simultaneously making me feel like I could fly. I couldn't have wiped the grin off my face, even if I wanted to. I had become a part of the pack, swimming in a sea of obsidian and activity - with an ache of certainty I knew that this was where I belonged. For a moment I realized that I had absolutely no idea where exactly the crowd was running to, where _I_ was running to, but I knew I had to keep up. I couldn't risk falling behind. My head snapped up at a loud, blaring noise - I would have recognized it anywhere as the telltale whistle of the train that tore its way through the city. The sound filled me with a dizzying mixture of joy and fear and I looked for it eagerly, only to find that everything around me was wrapped in clouds of mist. I was unable to watch it approach, but that didn't stop me from running. Now that I tried to focus on my surroundings, I found that even my closest neighbor was blurred into obscurity by the fog.

With no way to see the train yet, I allowed myself to dissipate into the crowd and fall in love with the feeling again and again. Without even thinking about it, I knew I was supposed to jump on the train while it was moving as we got close enough to finally see the cars moving swiftly. It wasn't something someone had told me, I just knew. In fact, I think I'd been looking forward to this moment for a long time, now that I was standing there with my hands trembling at my sides. I watched those in front of me, black smudges I couldn't distinguish, as they jumped in first, leaving me in waiting. I rushed forward then, my heart lurching, and realized that I hadn't even considered where the train was going, or why we were leaping onto it. I just knew I _had_ to do it, something very bad would happen if I didn't, and besides, I wanted to - more than anything. That realization squashed any resignations I'd had. I finally managed to build up the right amount of speed and hurled myself sideways at the car - but my stomach dropped as I realized that I had missed the entryway by a fraction of an inch. I found myself clinging to the door desperately as wind buffeted my face, and threatened to knock me free. I hadn't even considered the possibility that I wouldn't make it into the train car - that I would fail. I suddenly felt small and helpless. A pocket of fear grew in my chest, expanding until it pressed against my lungs and stole my breath.

Before my panic could consume me, I felt someone grab my arm and wrench me inside the safety of the rattling car. I squinted to look at them, but even with the heavy wind all around us, there was still a blurry veil that blurred my vision, and my savior was little more than soft corners and fuzz. Despite this, there was a warm ache in my heart that felt oddly like affection - I liked this person, trusted them. I was suddenly aware of them grasping my hand firmly, shaking it in greeting, but their voice was lost in the clanging of the train and the gusts of air from outside. The wind that deafened me was now threatening to throw my body to the floor - instinctively I pressed my back to the wall of the train car and focused on sitting. My head was pounding and my heart was thudding in my ears, beating too fast. The adrenaline coursing through my veins was indescribable. The soft cornered person joined me on the floor and I turned to face them, smiling instinctively even if I couldn't tell what sort of expression they wore. For just a moment the fog lifted, as though the breeze finally cut through, and I realized with a start that I was staring at Christina. Younger, like she'd been in our freshman year, but it was unmistakably her. She was grinning at me, her eyes wide with the same pleasure as I imagined my own held, her hair windblown and wild.

When I blinked the wind was suddenly less powerful, and I was startled to find myself standing on a ledge, staring down at the fog again. I couldn't see anything but the edge of the building I was standing on - but I knew the drop was far. I suddenly felt dizzy, but the feeling was more anticipation than fear. Instinctively I whipped around, searching for Christina, but the veil of mist was there, too, surrounding everything in a vast white emptiness. I knew there were people in front of me - that I wasn't alone, but I couldn't see them. I could just hear a voice, it was familiar but I couldn't tell who it belonged to, I could just barely hear them call me _Stiff_. For some reason that filled me with anger, enough to turn and jump without knowing why. Once my feet left the ground and I sank like a stone, downwards into who knew where, I thought that I would be consumed by panic - there was a very good chance that I would die, after all.

The panic never came - instead I felt euphoria.

After a few more moments spent suspended in air my body landed on a hard surface that only just bounced my weight upwards before catching me again, stinging my skin on contact. Something crawled into my mind, telling me that I'd fallen onto a net. I was alive. I had to trust the feeling, because I couldn't actually see the ropes that had saved me from a messy death. After catching my breath I instinctively rolled to the left, only to feel a pair of strong hands help me out and down onto the floor. They were talking to me, but I couldn't hear them - my legs were wobbly and my heart was lodged in my throat as I heard them shout, "First jumper, Tris!" I was almost positive that I knew this person, but I couldn't see their face, I was blinded by the mist. All I could do was shiver at the chill of the room - at the musty smell of earth and the damp air as I drank it in.

* * *

I woke abruptly, shooting upright as I jerked my head quickly from side to side - at first I expected to see nothing but a white veil, but, thankfully, my room came into focus, and I took in a deep breath of relief. I wiped at my eyes tiredly, trying to clear away the exhaustion that was still weighing down my limbs and tempting me to go back to sleep. The remnants of my dream had all but faded away by this point, but I got the impression that it had been pleasant. I felt light and giddy, despite the merciless blaring of my alarm - I swiftly reached over and silenced it before raising my arms above my head to stretch, letting my joints pop back into their rightful places. With a heavy sigh, I forced myself to swing my legs over the side of the bed - hissing at the freezing tile beneath that soaked into my toes - instead of going back to bed like I wanted, and sprung to my feet. There was no time for laziness today - my stomach was growling and I had classes to get to. I had woken with an almost overpowering urge to go for a run, but I knew I wouldn't be able to before my first class. Instead, I grabbed for the first set of clean clothes I could find and made a beeline for the kitchen - I was dreaming of a filling, quick breakfast. One quick glance through our cabinets left me with disappointment.

Apparently we had forgotten to go shopping for groceries. It looked like I'd get to go running after all. I locked the door behind me and rushed to the dining hall on campus - the lactic burn in my legs was a welcome distraction from my hunger. By the time I made it to the front doors that lead into the cafeteria, I had a whole ten minutes to spare before I needed to be in the lecture hall - lucky for me, my class was just on the other side of the street - so I ducked my chin and headed inside. Upon entering I was greeted by a few friendly faces from various classes, they looked about as tired as I felt, no one stopped me for conversation. Good. I scooped up a napkin full of grapes, a bottle of water and a chocolate chip muffin. It was still warm and exactly what I'd been craving. With my spoils in tow, I jogged back outside, checking both sides of the street to see if it was clear or not - the half eaten muffin was perched between my lips as I jogged in place, trying to keep my blood pumping in hopes of staving off the exhaustion and mild headache forming behind my eyes.

While waiting for the road to clear, I spotted a bus coming, and felt a sudden urge to dart out in front of it - there was still enough time to cross without running the risk of being crushed under its wheels - but the feeling faded almost as quickly as it had come. I was left feeling a pang of horror at the realization that I'd honestly been tempted by something like that - I wasn't an insane adrenaline junkie like some of the people I shared classes with - I didn't just risk my life needlessly on crazy whims. What the hell had that been about? I popped the last of the muffin past my lips and frowned, running across the two lanes once they were empty, trying to ignore the odd feeling that made my hands tremble. Before entering the building, I turned to watch the tail end of the bus disappear around the next corner, my heart pounding in my ears. With a shake of my head, I turned back and shouldered my way past the doors, finishing off the last of my grapes and tossing the used napkin in a bin - my feet squeaked on the tile, coated in morning dew.

I couldn't imagine what had brought on that kind of urge, but I knew I absolutely couldn't risk thinking that way, especially not right now. Despite whatever had gotten into my head, I needed to focus - exams would be starting in a little under a week and if I wanted any shot at making good impressions I had to score high. The rest of my morning passed in a blur of revision and furious note taking - it almost came as a shock when the hall started to clear out and my stomach rumbled. Was it lunch already? Following up on my silent oath to try more actively to spend time with my friends, I met up with Christina and Will in the dining hall. I was especially grateful for the company after the whole bus thing - I needed to make sure I wasn't going crazy. It was easy to lose myself as we all started gushing over our meals about the best approach to surviving finals. The next week would be spent cramming in study sessions together as often as possible.

"I'm already stocking up on all the caffeine I can get my hands on," Will explained between bites of his hamburger, Christina nodded sagely and I had to laugh. Usually finals meant we'd crash at someone's apartment, quizzing one another and making sure everyone was prepared for the tests. That involved unhealthy intakes of sugary energy drinks and junk food - which Will was the best at procuring. I took small bites of my food and listened as Chris started rattling off special requests for items to be bought, we'd already planned to spend the first few sessions at our apartment so it was up to him to get everything ready.

"I'll buy you guys like, three rounds at the Pit if you can manage to help me pass the Criminology exam," Al complained from behind me as he joined us at the table, his plate loaded down with greasy burgers and fries just like the rest of us. I chuckled quietly and worked on my own meal, somewhat distracted - I'd been trying for the last few minutes to remember my dream, throughout the morning I kept getting small glimpses of it, but nothing solid enough to grasp onto, and it was driving me insane. I was left frustrated and unsure as to why I was fixated on something so trivial as a dream - it wasn't like it held any real importance. Dreams were just dreams, after all. They didn't mean anything. Suddenly, I felt something soft and warm smack me on the cheek, and flinched; when I looked up it was to see Will grinning with upraised brows, and everyone else looking at me expectantly. A quick glance down affirmed that he'd thrown a fry at me to grab my attention - I cringed and looked back up apologetically. In all my fuss over the dream, I'd stopped listening to what they were saying.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked which exam you're the most worried about - so we can pull together the last of the list to study off of,"

"Um..I, Narcotics, honestly. There's so much to remember this semester, I need a little refresher." I finally answered with a frown - it was probably the most difficult class I'd dealt with since I finished studying about laws and legalities last semester. Almost immediately I heard a harsh kind of noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle from the end of our table, instinctively I glanced down that way, curious to find the source. Immediately I felt a fire in my veins and frowned.

Him again.

Sitting there with his nose in a textbook and his plate half touched, loose sheets of paper splayed around him haphazardly, was Peter. Looking at him left me with a strong desire to introduce his nose to my fist - I still had absolutely no explanation for the unorthodox level of hatred I felt for him, it was just..there. I knew there was absolutely no justification for my response to him simply existing, that him being difficult in classes and having that stupid, smug look on his face weren't good enough reasons for the boiling rage in my stomach, but logic didn't make me any less mad. I hated how at ease he appeared to be, he wasn't even looking at us. He was less formal than the last time I saw him, dressed in a pair of loose jeans and a faded t-shirt, both were varying shades of black; the sleeves of his shirt proved my previous suspicions from the night before. He certainly had muscle mass - enough to be formidable, but not enough to be bulky. I hated him. I felt my heart racing, my breath picking up, and was suddenly incapable of holding my tongue.

"Is something _funny_?" Peter raised his head at the sound of my voice, looking in our direction with an absolutely infuriating air of innocence mixed with mild irritation, his brows raised a few inches and his eyes widened marginally. I couldn't help noticing that, in the brighter lighting of the dining hall, his eyes were more noticeably green - though not at all like Will's - they were more of a hazel than anything. There was little light to be found in them. The way he managed to look genuinely surprised that I'd addressed him was enough to make me hesitate, to consider that maybe I'd dreamt up him being this bad guy, it wasn't like we'd actually talked. Maybe I was just being irrational - I didn't know why I would have felt the way I did without a good reason, but surely it was possible? Just a few hours ago I was considering running in front of a moving bus, so maybe I really was losing it. Then he spoke up, and the sound set my teeth on edge. There was no way someone could have a tone like his, so full of confidence and cocksure attitude, and not be at least a little bit of a jerk.

"I'm sorry, are you talking to me?" I scowled at him then, balling my hands into fists on either side of my plate. Even as I stared him down, it didn't escape my notice that my friends had bristled at the confrontation - they were looking at me like I'd grown another head, though - I wasn't usually one to speak up, after all. They seemed to be interested in seeing this play out, rather than jumping to my defense, but it was still abundantly clear that they didn't like Peter any more than I did from the looks they were shooting him. That was a relief.

"No, I'm talking to the _other_ jerk who eavesdrops on conversations," The corners of his lips turned up slowly into a smile that only served to fuel my anger. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears, flooding my cheeks with color. His expression was oozing with smugness; he had an air of confidence about him that made me want to knock that stupid smirk right off of his face.

"Oh. Well, in that case, if you don't mind, I have studying to do." He said with that same condescending tone before turning back to his textbook without another glance our way, as though we were some inconvenience that had been dealt with. I wanted to fight him and his bad attitude. I huffed and chose to ignore him. As long as he minded his own business I could handle not jumping down his throat for simply existing. Just as Will opened his mouth to continue our discussion, though, another laugh escaped Peter - a soft chuckle this time. My face was almost painfully hot as my anger threatened to boil over. "Just, for the record, though. Saying you only need a _little_ refresher in that class- that's a major understatement. You'd probably need an entire semester of studying to get any kind of passable grade, Prior." He muttered into his book without looking our way, I could see from where I sat that his smirk was even more severe than it had been before. My nails bit painfully into my palms as I tightened my fists. In that moment I fully intended to storm over and bust his teeth out of his head, even going so far as to press my hands against the edge of the table to get up, but Christina rested her hand on my shoulder and I remembered myself. Where I was - the kind of strict code against violence our university demanded.

"Don't bother, Tris, he's just trying to get a rise out of you, that's all he's good for - all bark, no bite." I was almost positive that I saw him stiffen at her words, but maybe it was my imagination. He didn't strike me as the kind of person who let anyone upset him easily, let alone Christina, who was also nearly all bark and no bite, but then again, what did I know? "I heard we're going to test out a breathalyzer today, don't want to be late." She tacked on with a little devious giggle that gave me the distinct impression that she was more excited about the prospect of an alcohol related lecture than the actual breathalyzer.

I wanted to stay put and sit there stubbornly, leaving felt too much like defeat, but I knew I had absolutely nothing to gain from it. I glanced down at my plate while getting up and realized with a flare of irritation that in all the fuss I hadn't even finished my meal - thanks to him. Great. I shot him another glare for ruining my lunch, feeling anger burn in my chest when I found that not only was he still sitting there but he was _watching_ us. Like he'd been waiting to gauge a reaction. He wiggled his brows when our eyes met, winking as he mouthed "have fun". I considered not giving a damn about rules or regulations and launching myself at him, but managed to swallow my anger at the last moment and looked away at the memory of Christina's words. I wouldn't allow him to have the satisfaction of getting me any more wound up than I already was.

* * *

"Ugh! What's that guy's problem, anyway?"

Christina's expression was full of pity and amusement, both equally irritating, as she rolled her eyes at me. "What _isn't_ his problem? We grew up in the same neighborhood - I'm almost positive that psycho actually gets off on upsetting people. Just..don't respond to him, it'll discourage the prick and he'll go away." She shrugged, holding the door open for me before we hurried forward, the incident with Peter had nearly made us late, "At least Molly and Drew weren't there, I might have had to start a fight." The prospect of ducking my head and letting that prick push me around only fueled my anger, but I nodded anyway, at least pretending to be compliant. It was easier to just let her think that I agreed with her, that she'd remedied the situation for now. At least then I wouldn't have to listen to her try and convince me that her way was the right way for the next few days. So I thanked her with a sigh, admitting that she was probably right, and let her believe that I felt better - which I absolutely did not.

It turned out that Christina was right about our class, by the end of the period we each had swished a mouthful of whiskey and were made to breathe into a little tube which told us what the alcohol content we'd "consumed" was. It was actually kind of fun, despite the terrible taste. I obediently spat my mouthful out after swishing, but Chris swallowed hers with a playful "Oops," followed by an expression that said she was not in the least bit sorry about it. By the time classes were finished for the day, my mood had dramatically improved, and I'd managed to forget about the whole Peter incident altogether. I'd been receiving a barrage of texts attempting to coerce me into eating dinner in the cafeteria with my friends regardless of the fact that I really did need to go home and start on my paper. Christina, as usual, won out over me. Even I couldn't argue that the prospect of eating a warm meal with my friends sounded much better than willing a paper to write itself while gorging on stale crackers and water all alone. So I met them at our usual table, feeling a prickle of apprehension at the memory of our disastrous lunch.

Our table was free of any self-entitled pricks - which was a huge relief. We were joined by a group that I couldn't quite call my friends, but I had come to know and..well, at the very least enjoy their company during my years at the university. Uriah was the first to notice our presence, grinning from ear to ear as he called out a greeting. I felt myself grin back - it was hard not to, he always had such a pleasant expression. He was Zeke's younger brother and they were uncannily similar in that sense. Next to him, Lynn made a stark contrast with her sour expression - like she couldn't care one way or another about us being there. Marlene more than made up for her, though, and beamed at us as she asked about classes. She and Christina easily broke into conversations about the classes they shared as the rest of us quietly dug into our food. Eventually, as it always seemed to, their conversation broke into talking about cute guys, which branched off to include which officers were the most attractive. I had to hide my smirk as I watched Uriah and Will's expressions slowly change to match Lynn's.

Al seemed content with listening to them talk about other men and their gorgeous eyes, I didn't miss the way he pointedly glanced my way with that same infuriating expression he'd had back in The Pit when I'd admitted to having a strictly professional relationship with Zeke. Anger flared up in my stomach and I found myself glaring at my plate with a sudden lack of appetite. I knew I needed to talk to him about my feelings like an adult, and explain that he made me uncomfortable, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't prove that he was actually attracted to me, not really, and I didn't want to run the risk of offending him by being wrong. So I kept quiet and forced myself to finish the food on my tray, no longer really listening to the conversation util Uriah piped up with a painfully obvious attempt to change the topic.

"So who else is absolutely gonna bomb on the Forensics exam?" Marlene gave his shoulder a gentle shove as the rest of us groaned, unhappy about the reminder of how close the exams were now.

"I'm not even that worried about it, I mean it's like, forty percent about legality and sixty percent about the actual scientific necessities for the required position, right?" That earned Will a spoonful of mashed potatoes spattered across his cheek by Christina, who proceeded to pretend she was absolutely innocent when glared in her direction. He didn't manage to hold the stern expression for more than a few seconds, though, and grinned like a fiend before reaching across the table to smear chocolate pudding down the side of her face. Even I couldn't help the laughter that ripped out of me at the absolutely scandalized expression that had replaced her smile. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes wide and her mouth threatening to twitch upward into a smile. I took this as my cue to leave before I would up in the middle of a food fight - I had no desire to take a shower tonight with the paper still looming over my head.

"You're so dead, Will."

Thankfully everyone was caught up in the tension of the moment, so I slipped away from the table without having to explain myself to them, walking towards the back of the room where the trays and dirty dishes were deposited after being used. Without meaning to, I easily spotted Peter across the dining area, positioned between a squat looking boy with fiery red hair and a girl with wide shoulders and flat brown hair - even from this distance I would recognize her weak chin and mean eyes. I neither trusted, nor liked, seeing the three of them together - a tingle of apprehension whispered to me that each of them were unpleasant, but as a group they were pure danger. Unfortunately, I didn't look away from them fast enough and, much to my dismay, found myself staring into an infuriatingly familiar set of dark green eyes for the first time in as many encounters as we'd had. Damn. The look on his face was intense, thoughtful, before slowly shifting back to the smug one I'd grown used to. He winked at me again.

What a prick. I tore my eyes away, not interested in seeing him or his irritating face - I didn't want to wait around to find out if he felt it was worth his time to come over just to make my life more difficult or not. Instead I turned back to the task at hand, emptying my tray and disposing of the trash. Even from where I stood I could hear Molly laugh over the din of the hall, and knew in my heart that I hated the whole lot of them. I wouldn't let them get under my skin. I wouldn't. It wasn't until I turned back around that I realized with dismay that they were seated near the exit. I'd have to walk right past their table to leave the building. I considered going back and joining my friends again, but if I did, I'd have to accept that I'd rather cower than face them. That they intimidated me to some degree. That wasn't going to happen.

With more confidence than I actually felt, I set my shoulders and held my chin high, walking sternly forward. It was hard not to notice them at least a little bit, though, and that turned out to be okay as I was able to see Drew's leg extended out into the aisle to trip me. I hopped over it in one smooth motion. Thankfully, he didn't anticipate that, and I managed to pass without giving them the satisfaction of my falling. I didn't spare them a glance. My plan had been to treat them as though they were any other cluster of students that weren't a part of my everyday routine, they were just three more faces in the crowd. While in theory it had sounded like a great plan, it was laid to rest almost immediately. I felt something graze over my right shoulder and heard a soft splat that caused me to halt - tensing slightly. After looking over my shoulder and to my feet, I spotted a small pile of mashed potatoes, roughly the size of a spoonful - half of it had stuck to my jacket while the other half was now splattered on the ground. Some had even gotten on my shoes. Instinctively I balled my hands into fists by my sides.

Molly started laughing again, it was an unpleasant sound that rested halfway between a cackle and a wheeze; Drew joined in, then, and his was by far more ridiculous - high pitched and squeaky. Peter, however, let out a far more controlled noise, a deep chuckle that rumbled in his chest, and that was somehow even worse than the other two combined. It immediately brought the blood rushing to my face as I fought to control my mounting anger. I still hadn't turned to face them yet, instead I looked across to my left, searching for the table where I'd left my friends. It was easy enough to spot them - what with the raucous laughter and Lynn's shaven head, but they were currently absorbed in watching Marlene balance a cup on her chin. I wouldn't be receiving any help from them. I swallowed hard, reminding myself that I didn't need help, I could handle this on my own.

"That's a good color on you, Prior! I think it's an improvement to the whole outfit," Peter's voice filled my ears and I quickly spun to face him, desperately trying to control my expression. I didn't need him knowing he could anger me so easily. I noticed that we'd garnered the attention of the few people sitting nearby, and I knew that my face was red with rage, but I couldn't find it within myself to care at that moment. Seeing the pride on Peter's face snapped something in me and, without really thinking it through, I stormed over to the three of them. They tensed, possibly expecting some kind of fight, and part of me was deeply convinced that was what I wanted. At the last second I got a better better idea, though, and grinned; a lesson in humiliation, I decided, was the best possible retaliation for that over-confident jerk - it would do him some good. I quickly grabbed the front of his tray, still relatively full, and flipped it back onto his chest. Potatoes, gravy, pudding, and chicken poured down his shirt and onto his jeans. I smirked triumphantly and took a few rapid steps backward to observe my work of art. It had been just as satisfying as I'd hoped. He was glaring at me with slitted eyes, his face was bright red,, and he was breathing heavily - Molly looked torn between wanting to tear my eyes out and giggling; Drew was barely containing his laughter. Good.

Molly suddenly seemed to snap back into action, moving to gather napkins and passing them to Peter - but he was too focused on staring me down to notice her at the moment. He was almost terrifyingly silent. I would have rathered he explode at me - jump up, start a fight. Rather than letting him intimidate me, though, I grinned and tilted my head, further rattling his cage instead of letting his humiliation end at the flipped tray. A small part of me whispered in my ear, warned me that my behavior was little better than his at this point, but I was fed up.

"Wow, Peter, I see what you mean - that is _exactly_ what you were missing, it looks _great_ on you." I felt a rush of pleasure at the snort that escaped Molly and turned on my heel - I could just see Christina and the others out of the corner of my eye, they were definitely looking at me now. Pride welled in my chest at the realization that I'd actually stood up for myself - it felt good to retaliate against the attacks rather than walking away the better person. Really good. As I left, I noticed a few people shooting me strange looks, but for the most part anyone who noticed what happened hooted with pleasure or congratulated me. I couldn't wipe the satisfied grin off of my face for the entire jog back to our apartment.

I didn't end up get any writing done - by the time I got home I had to take a shower to get the food out of my hair and the rush of pleasure from my victory had lessened some. The longer I stewed over the incident, the more I thought about Peter's intimidating silence, I could feel anger building up in my chest again and I knew I wouldn't be able to focus enough to do anything productive. So I opted to not even turn my computer on and went straight to bed.

I was gripping a pistol, the weight felt odd in my hand as I fired desperately at a target that I couldn't quite find within my ability to hit. My surroundings were webbed and layered with thick white fog, but I could see the target well enough. I could see my inability to hit it. Despite my failure, adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and my fingers and forearm were numb with pain from gripping my weapon so tightly. The sound of the bullet exiting the chamber was jarringly loud, the cold metal and the heft of the gun were making me dizzy. My entire world had become one small tunnel that had me at one end, reloading a gun that I had yet to control, and the target at the other, almost mocking me for my lack of skill. I glared at it, suddenly filled with frustration.

There was a muffled noise to my right - a voice, I realized - and I had the impression that I was being teased, playfully, but teased all the same. Something about defying statistics. I still hadn't hit the target. Squinting, I breathed in and glared down my sight, finally guiding the bullet into its intended zone. It wasn't a bullseye by any means, but I'd torn a small hole in the paper. I felt a strange sense of power rush through me upon accepting that I could control the gun in my hands, this dangerous machine, and it sent tingles down my scalp and into my fingers and toes, overwhelming me. For a moment I felt a strange sense of kinship towards the person beside of me, the smear of black clothes that I couldn't quite focus on. Something about them reminded me of Will. Before I could really think about that, I blinked and found myself standing in a new environment.

I'm not sure how I knew it changed when it was the same void of..anything, but it was apparent to me that I was somewhere else. I found myself nestled in a crowd of shades, of faceless smudges, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of blood and sweat. I heard a hard smack and the smudges of color suddenly formed into dull, recognizable shapes - almost like I had suddenly peered through a window covered with frost - of two figures. Two people. One was large and bear-like, the other narrow and wiry, though still larger than I was. I felt my heart stutter at the realization that, despite the fact that I couldn't see their faces, I knew I was watching Will and Al fight. I felt my stomach churn as I watched the blurry versions of my friends jab, and duck, and strike at one another, Al seemed hesitant and Will was determined, but his blows were almost harmless. It reminded me a bit of the self defense classes on hand to hand combat where we sparred our partners, but unlike then, I got the feeling that neither of them were holding their punches. The phrase "No one concedes," bubbled up to the surface of my thoughts and sent a chill through me. I almost missed it when Will was struck - but immediately experienced a nauseating sensation of Déjà vu. I'd been here, I'd seen this before. I'd lived it. Without seeing the full room, I suddenly knew that there was a dated green chalkboard in the corner, that the mats here were worn and tired and in need of replacing. I had no idea why specifically I was remembering those things, but I knew it with a chilling certainty.

The last thing I saw before the edges of my vision faded to black was Will's body crumpling in defeat as Al struck him once again. My stomach filled with dread and then I saw nothing.

I woke in a panic, covered in cold sweat, and grabbed the nearest notebook I could find. Fervently, I recorded every detail I could remember - of the fight, of the room, the smell of sweat and metal and dust - filling the pages speedily and messily. A part of me knew that most of this was nonsense that I wouldn't understand in the morning, but it just _felt_ important to remember, before it faded like my dreams always did. My hand began to cramp and I felt exhaustion tugging at my eyelids, but I gripped the feeling buzzing in my veins that made my fingers tingle - the feeling that I needed to _remember_ this. Once I was satisfied that I'd gotten as many details as I could manage to hold on to written down, I let my eyes fall shut and curled up against my pillow with the book in my arms and the pen still grasped in my hand.

I didn't dream again that night.

* * *

I've been excited to post this! And I know originally I said every Wednesday but it works out better to post every Tuesday, so that'll be the schedule for these. I hope everyone's enjoying what's going down so far - I know it isn't much, but there's more to come, all in due time.

Comment and let me know what you think, feedback is the best motivator!


	3. Monachopsis

Monachopsis

(n.) the subtle, but persistent feeling of being out of place.

* * *

When I woke the following morning it was to discomfort. The pages of my notebook clung to my cheek, with the faintest bit of sweat and drool dampening them. I groaned and peeled them away slowly, blinking exhaustion from my eyes. It was difficult to piece together why I fell asleep holding it but, slowly, the memories returned - I couldn't recall the dream, but I distinctly remembered how it _felt_. My stomach twisted into knots. After a brief glance at the strings of phrases written there, I decided it was far too early to try and decipher a dream journal - my head was too fuzzy for that.

Among a lot of nonsense were seemingly random words or phrases like, _"No one concedes" "Stiff [insult of some kind]" "combat training"._ They made me feel like I should remember them, but try as I may I couldn't. Defeated, I stretched out on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, telling myself I'd come back and try to make sense of it after a quick jog. My first mission was to grab some coffee. With that in mind, I pulled on some workout appropriate clothes and headed into the kitchen.

Unfortunately I'd forgotten about our depressing lack of groceries, there wasn't any coffee. So, defeated once more, I headed out into the chill of the morning with a piece of unbuttered toast between my teeth and a bottle of water in hand.

Running cleared the fog in my head, and distracted me from everything that had been happening lately. I relished in the burn of my muscles, the constriction of my lungs, throwing my head back before breaking into a full out run, just because I wanted to. Because I could. It felt amazing, familiar. After a few miles, I eased to a stop with my hands pressed to my thighs, catching my breath, and decided to walk. The dew from the grass had soaked into my shoes by this point, and I was beginning to feel chilled. I used my new pace as an opportunity to uncap my water, sucking down a much needed mouthful.

Now that I'd gotten a good hard run out of my system, I finally allowed myself to enjoy the morning - more so the silence of it than anything else. It was difficult to tell how long I'd been out, I'd forgotten my watch, but eventually I plopped down onto the next bench I came across; the sweat clinging to me had dried and my breathing was back to normal. I'd successfully erased any worry about dreams or exams and, for that, I was grateful. For a long time I sat and took in the view in front of me - the city wasn't perfect, there were quite a few buildings that were ruined and unused, but it was home and I felt comfortable there. Safe.

Without thinking, my eyes were drawn to the building I knew housed the Pit, and I felt an inexplicable longing. I was not, and never had been, a partier - so it didn't make sense that I wanted to go there so badly, but I did. I found myself craving the cool, dark atmosphere, and the smells; the swaths of strangers in black with dyed hair and piercings - I wanted to be one of them. That scared and excited me more than ever wanted to admit. I didn't care about the music or the drinks, not even so much the company of my friends, but the damp cavern and its inhabitants themselves captivated me.

For a moment I was whisked away, reminded of running amidst a crowd of people that would fit right in at the club, rushing with them and feeling my body protest deliciously to the strenuous activity; of the pleasure it brought. I frowned, trying anxiously to piece together where that memory came from, but the scene faded into nothing and I was left with a hollow place where it should have been. It was infuriating. If that had been the first time that had happened, maybe I could have ignored it, chalked it up to a scene from a book or something, but it wasn't. I'd been steadily experiencing more and more of those phantom memories over the last few weeks alongside my dreams. They were starting to drive me over the edge.

I lurched forward from the bench suddenly, as though burned, and opted to ignore that whole train of thought altogether. I needed to keep moving, I couldn't let this control me. With a huff, I began running back the way I'd come, trying to shake off the loneliness left behind where the memory had been. I paused, then, knitting my brows together in confusion; why was I so certain that it had been a memory? I knew that, had I been in a group like that, I'd..remember it, wouldn't I? Every detail with stunning precision? Eventually I reasoned with myself that I must have seen it happen somewhere - or heard about it in the news. Maybe it had been one of my dreams. Either way, it couldn't possibly have been a memory. There was absolutely no way I could forget something that made me feel the way it had.

With that decided, I shook myself of the strange sensation and began running again, pushing myself hard enough that the only thing I could concentrate on were my steps, the fire in my lungs, and the acidic burn in my muscles. I ended up stopping for lunch at the cafeteria, and running for a few more hours - the thought of going home kept driving me back out - what would I do when I got there? Study, like I needed to? Or write that stupid paper? I imagined I'd be trapped in my head with the dreams and the loneliness and that wasn't something I was ready to deal with.

When I finally convinced myself it was time to go home, I ran into Christina and Will walking between classes. They seemed surprised to see me - my face burned as I tried to imagine what I looked like to them. Flushed, and covered in sweat, probably pretty disgusting, but there was this big grin on my face, so that had to count for something, right? I jogged over to their side of the street and allowed myself to slow to a walk - I was thankful for once that I didn't share certain classes with them. At least I was free to my own devices now and then - even if my idea of freedom was spontaneous day-long runs.

"Jeeze, wow. Getting an early start on the endurance tests?" Christina asked with a grin, looking me up and down with approval. I beamed at her and shrugged, trying to catch my breath.

"Yeah, something like that. How's classes?" That earned me a scowl, but Will immediately dove into the topic with bright eyes and a brighter smile. Oops.

"Oh absolutely amazing - we're doing our projects right now," Cue the unenthusiastic cheer from Christina, I had to smile, "And we're supposed to be getting into the mind of a psychopath, it's really an interesting bit of psychology-"

Unfortunately, this went on for another fifteen minutes - I'd mistakenly gotten him started on a passionate tirade, something that had earned me a lot of narrowed eyes and frowns from my best friend. Normally I enjoyed these kinds of talks, but my exhaustion dampened my usual curiosity. It was endearing to see how seriously Will took these things, though, and I could see the admiration Christina was trying to hide when she looked at him. Neither of those things made the situation any less mind-numbingly difficult to focus on, however. I was itching to move. Suddenly, Chris made a soft gasping noise, and a big show of checking her watch, before grabbing his shoulder with an impressively serious expression. It was difficult not to laugh.

"Will, as badly as I'd _love_ to hear you go on about the wonders of psych, we're going to be late for our lecture." That seemed to get his attention, his eyes widened and he shot me an almost apologetic smile.

"I hate to leave in the middle of a discussion like this, but we've got to go - we can talk about it more at breakfast tomorrow, right Chris?" She groaned, which only served to make a laugh bubble up from my chest, and I nodded at him encouragingly. Maybe a good night's sleep would make hearing about the mind of a murderer more interesting.

"Sure thing, now go - before you're late!" Seeing them had definitely improved my mood. Once they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, I crossed back to the correct side of the road, feeling optimistic on my way home. When I finally got back, my goal was clear - I gathered up everything I'd need for a shower and shut myself in our small bathroom. I was moving on autopilot by this point, manually washing the sweat and grime from myself before pulling on the softest pajamas I could find. The run had been nice, but it left me sore and exhausted.

One less than pleasant meal of instant noodles later found me sitting in front of my computer with a determined scowl on my face. I was going to write at least a few pages, the deadline was looming ever nearer, and I'd yet to get anything done. Not even an outline. So I pushed the thought of examining the dream journal to the back of my mind, promising that I'd read it over once I had some solid work done on my actual assignment. Running must have done better than I thought to clear my head, because I had absolutely no trouble finding the right words when I started typing. Somehow, a couple of paragraphs turned into finishing the entire thing in one sitting, getting lost in facts and theories, and by the time I'd typed up the closing paragraph my eyes were so tired I could barely see.

I ended up falling asleep without even opening the notebook.

* * *

The following weeks passed by in a blur of activity. Between studying and final assignments, as well as preparing for the academy, I'd been dead on my feet and ready for it all to be done with. On top of that, the occurrences involving Peter and company had gotten worse - probably no thanks to me covering him in food in front of tons of people. I'd been hoping that after our encounter in the dining hall they would have stepped back and left me alone - unfortunately, I'd never been a particularly lucky person. It went from seeing them a few times every day or so to dealing with their irritating presences almost daily - if not more than that. I'd taken to eating in our apartment again, much to Christina's disapproval and my shame. It felt like hiding, but I reasoned that if I didn't avoid them I was likely to get in a fight. If there was a next time I might not have been able to stop myself from throwing punches.

All three of them had been doing everything they could to make me look like an idiot in lectures, in front of my friends, strangers - when and wherever they could. I'd about had it. They seemed to have decided I was their personal plaything. I'd been desperately waiting for Christina to be right, for them to get bored with me, but it hadn't happened so far. I found myself wondering now and then what I'd done to deserve it, aside from flipping Peter's tray which has absolutely been paid back by now.

In the end I found myself chalking it up to jealousy - it didn't take a genius to see that I was excelling in some of the classes that they were barely scraping by in - but that thought felt cocky, like something they would brag about, so I tried not to think that way. Sometimes it made me feel a bit better, though. The only thing I could be grateful for was the fact that after a solid week and a half of torture, I hadn't seen them for three whole days. Apparently they were busy with exams, too.

For the better of an hour I'd been working on piecing together a full semester's worth of notes into some semblance of a study guide, for myself and the others to go over. We were supposed to be meeting up at Will's place for a last ditch effort of studying; Al's roommate had banned us coming over and we'd already made the boys travel to our apartment several times over the last few weeks, so his place had been the best option. We had tackled almost all of our exams by this point, but there was still a lot of work to do for Al and Christina's last two, though mine and Will's last one wouldn't be half as bad.

When I finally glanced up from the piles of notes, I found that it was nearly five in the afternoon. Damn. I'd been responsible for the study information while everyone else had been gathering snacks and drinks for our late night session, time had gotten away from me. I was going to be late. Just thinking about the commute over, and the late night ahead of us already had me exhausted. One more test and I'd be free for three months before the academy. I definitely needed the break.

It didn't take long to get to Will's place - only a few blocks from our apartment, really - but the walk was made more difficult thanks to the heavy bags full of notes and fake quizzes I'd compiled hanging by each of my hips. It was apparently not my night - when I stepped into the lobby of Will's apartment complex I was greeted by a sheet of glaring yellow paper informing me the elevator was broken. Lovely. By the time I made it up ten flights of stairs to his apartment I was ready to curl up and take a nap, suddenly thankful for my impulsive runs. At least I had stamina on my side. My breaths were heavy and the jacket I'd chosen to protect me from the last chill of the afternoon had gone from my savior to my enemy. My form of knocking was to kick the door a few times, nearly falling over from the weight of my cargo in the process.

In a matter of moments, a streak of warm yellow light greeted me as Al opened the door. I hated the instinctive discomfort that grew in my chest when his eyes lit up at the sight of me. He almost immediately took both of the heavy satchels from me before moving out of the doorway, sputtering about how I should have called for help from the lobby. Normally I would have complained that I was capable of bearing the weight, but with the bags removed my shoulders stopped aching as badly, so I thanked him instead.

Once I stepped closer to the doorway, I caught the middle of a heated debate going on about the stipulation and rules surrounding the rights to search a civilian without a warrant - it made me smile. Leave it to Will and Christina to find anything to disagree on and argue about it at length. They were laughing, though, so that was a good sign. I finally stepped inside and closed the door behind me with my foot, making quick work of the jacket that was threatening to suffocate me.

Before I got there, I'd been hopeful that the encounter would be fun, despite the studying - it usually was, but upon turning to stand on my tiptoes and hang up my coat, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Upon turning my head to put a name to the silent roommate, I found the last person I'd want to see. There went my three day record of avoiding him. This had definitely not been my day. He wasn't interacting with the others at all - he was simply filling a glass with water in their kitchenette, but somehow he managed to do even that simple task with an air of smugness. I scowled as I took in his appearance, tired and relaxed; he was wearing a loose tank top that blended into the black cotton pants hanging from his hips, and I was surprised by the outfit - I'd never seen him in anything but jeans or shorts and t-shirts. When my name was called in greeting from across the room, he looked up and smirked at me - I found myself boiling with rage in a matter of seconds.

No wonder Will had been avoiding having us study at his place - _Peter_ was his roommate. Poor Will. The smug brunette raised the glass to his lips and took a long drink - I could feel Chris and Will looking at me as I shot daggers at Peter pointedly, hoping to burn a hole in his skull with my eyes alone. During the entire encounter he hadn't broken eye contact with me once; I could safely say that his shade of green was not on my list of favorite colors. Once he finished drinking he popped his lips and let out a satisfied " _Ahh_." I didn't realize my hands were in fists until I felt the ache of my nails digging hard into my palms. Peter tilted his head and chuckled like someone leaned in and told him a particularly amusing joke - I knew my cheeks were burning bright red. I hated him more than ever in that moment.

"Something I can do for you, _Beatrice_? Some water, maybe - all those stairs can wear a person out." He spat my name like it was an insult, but his tone was amused, rather than angry. I didn't look away from him, knowing he'd take it as an act of submission. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of winning. The sound of Christina clearing her throat snapped me back into reality after a few tense seconds - it reminded me of why I was there in the first place - that I was in a house filled with my friends, who were waiting for me to join them.

He made a little shooing motion with his hands as though giving me permission to leave - I was tempted to throw the closest object I could find at his head for it, but he turned away and walked down the hall that lead to their rooms before I could. I managed to uncurl my fists and strode across the room to sit and stew in the recliner positioned on the far side of their apartment. The kitchenette was blocked from that angle, which helped calm my anger a little bit. The following silence was awkward.

"I'm sorry, Tris, he said he was going to be out tonight." Will's apology was quiet - I shrugged as though I could care less and summoned a smile. It was hard to imagine my expression was convincing, but they didn't push it.

"So, where are we starting?" Even I could hear that my voice was strained with irritation, but I was trying, and my friends were kind enough to pretend that the tension in the air wasn't thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Well, you can start by agreeing with _me_ ," Christina started without missing a beat, "That searching someone on the street just because they look _sketchy_ is not a valid reason and is profiling."

I rolled my eyes and laughed as Will flew off on a tangent about how of _course_ it sounded bad when she put it that way. I suddenly found myself grateful for the wonderful people around me, grounding me and keeping me sane. The debate went on on for another ten minutes before we finally managed to settle into our circle, notes spread all around, and began quizzing one another. It was easy to forget about Peter among my friends; between Will and Christina cracking jokes and Al good naturedly trying to stay neutral in every fight, I even managed to have a good time. We made a decent amount of progress and, by the middle of the night, I felt confident that not only I, but everyone else in the room, stood a chance of passing any test thrown at us. After nearly three solid hours everyone decided to stretch out and passed around snacks and drinks.

During their bathroom visits and walking around to get the feeling back in their legs, I stayed stubbornly planted in my seat. I was in a great mood, I didn't need to run into Peter and ruin that. Al seemed to take notice of my position and walked over with two drinks and a couple packages of snack cakes. He tossed me one of the cakes, offering the drink once I'd caught it, and gave me a long, thoughtful look. I forced a smile onto my face and raised my brows in a silent question, urging him to say whatever it was that was important enough to keep him hovering like this.

"You're crazy smart, you know?" He asked quietly, choosing to pop the seal on his drink and sip on it rather than look at me for any longer than he already had. Inwardly I cringed, wondering where this was going, but I managed to laugh half heartedly.

"You're smart, too, Al. Just, not at the same things I am - you shouldn't be so hard on yourself." He frowned at that and gave me a pointed look. The same one Christina was famous for when she knew for a fact I was lying. I chose that moment to open my own drink, and pretended to read the package of the snack cake. Dauntless Delight: So Good It's Scary. I frowned for a moment, feeling an uncomfortable wave familiarity, but Al's voice pulled me back to our conversation, and the feeling was forgotten.

"It's okay, I know I'm not super smart - I can still make it as a regular cop, you guys will all be big, important people, but the force always needs more plain guys like me." Thankfully Will came back in the room with Christina in tow, arguing over which brand of drinks was more enticing, and I didn't have to respond to Al's self depreciating comment. I wanted to shake him, tell him that he could only be as good as he believed, but it wouldn't have made a difference. Without much enthusiasm we all went right back to the grindstone, quizzing Christina while she balanced a can on her head.

The next time I looked up to the clock, I had to rub my eyes to focus on the numbers clearly - finding that we'd been at it for nearly six and a half hours. I took a look around, seeing cans of various energy drinks and empty snack wrappers littering the floor - Al had finally fallen asleep after retiring to the couch half an hour ago and Chris and Will were curled up together on the floor; her head rested in his lap, and he was laid back against the wall.

I couldn't imagine the position was comfortable, but I didn't bother them. I'd learned by then that neither of that pair were particularly fun to wake up, and besides, it was sort of sweet to look at. I knew by the following morning they would both be lying down anyway, I found myself hoping that was sooner rather than later, before Will wound up with a sore back. The small, selfish part of me silently rejoiced at the fact that I was free to crash on Will's bed instead of in the recliner - that realization paired with my screaming bladder were excellent motivation to get me up and out of the chair.

With a groan and some semi-painful joint popping, I managed to untangle myself from the mess of notes and trash I'd accumulated, rubbing my hands over my eyes in the hope of relaxing the deep ache behind them. As quietly as possible, I scooped up my overnight bag and made my way to the bathroom down the hall. Almost the moment my fingers flipped the switch, I regretted it as the small room was instantly flooded with searingly bright light.

I'd grown used to the dim lamps of the living room. Once I'd adjusted, I forced myself to look up into the mirror with only mild discomfort. I looked half dead. There were dark rings beneath my eyes, which were bloodshot and half lidded, and my skin was even paler than usual. One emptied bladder later left me washing my hands before retrieving my toothbrush. Sluggishly, I managed to dampen the bristles and coat them in toothpaste, brushing at the speed of a slow crawl.

"You're taking forever - cover up, I'm coming in. Or don't, I really could care less." Peter's voice was tired, but that didn't make it any less annoying, the sound made me jump and I nearly dropped my toothbrush in the process. I glanced his way and scowled - I definitely had closed that door before, but he'd come in anyway, without even waiting for an okay. Apparently privacy was something he cared little about - I felt myself bristling with anger.

"That's unfortunate." My voice was curt - I made it a point not to look at him, mostly out of spite - I worked on brushing my teeth, focusing on my personal hygiene rather than my growing hatred. He could be annoying all he wanted, I wouldn't rise to his bait - not this time. When he moved closer, I flinched, he was near enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, which I chose to ignore. He didn't make any move to touch or hurt me, though, simply grabbing for his own toothbrush and applying paste to it without wetting it before shoving it past his lips. "You really are evil," I grumbled around my own brush, which seemed to amuse him. I could just see the corner of his mouth turn up into a smile - so much for not looking at him. My eyes caught his in the mirror for a second before I stared at his forehead instead.

His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and it looked like he was barely even awake. I decided quickly to keep my eyes trained on his face after a cursory glance down - he'd lost the tank top from before and I didn't need him knowing that his partial nudity made me uncomfortable. Even more than that, I didn't need him to accuse me of gawking. I got the distinct feeling it would just fuel the taunts either way. Peter was surprisingly quiet during this entire uncomfortable exchange, only leaning near me when he needed to spit in the sink. More than once his arm brushed mine, and I flinched at how warm he was - I was icy by comparison.

Neither of us talked, which I was absolutely fine with. I rushed my way through the motions before rinsing my brush out, eager to be finished - he was near enough for me to smell his cologne, and that was far too close for comfort. The sooner I could get out of that cramped bathroom and away from him, the better. He leaned in and spat another mouthful of foam, watching me as I carefully put my things in my overnight bag, running water over his brush before shoving it back into his mouth. I'd just have to change in Will's room, since Peter decided I didn't even deserve the privacy to use their bathroom in peace.

I added that to the long list of reasons I couldn't wait to show him up in the academy. It was right up there next to "being an insufferable dick."

"You're in my way, Hayes," I tried to fill the word with as much venom as possible, but it just came out thin and annoyed. My voice was tired, like the rest of me, spread too thin. He smirked with the brush still in his mouth, and moved past me roughly, his shoulder hitting mine deliberately and far harder than necessary. The warmth was there again, but I ignored it and smirked, celebrating a small victory at the knowledge that I'd annoyed him. My arm hurt from the contact, but I wasn't going to show him that. As I left, I heard him turn the water back on, followed by a ceramic _clink_ as he put his toothbrush away.

Once I stepped back into the hall, I had to blink a few times to allow my eyes to adjust to the dark contrast before heading further into the shadows. It only went a little further than the bathroom before ending abruptly with two doors facing one another at the end. I chose the blank one; the other had a large whiteboard hanging from it with a message informing anyone who wanted to enter that they were welcome to fuck off, signed Peter. I had absolutely no interest in going through that door. I slipped in Will's room while the water was still running in the bathroom, and kicked the door shut behind me firmly. Once I was alone I became aware of my rapid heartbeat and the heat in my cheeks, clearly I was still angry. Of course, I had every right to be.

My fingers fumbled for the light switch before my surroundings were illuminated in the same painfully bright light from the bathroom. I found myself genuinely surprised at how neat the room was once I could see it properly - everything seemed to have its place. If I recalled correctly, the last time I'd been in here a few months back, it had been a horrifying mess. Good for Will. I dropped my bag in the floor by his bed, and set to work, changing as fast as I could manage through my fatigue. Even as I wiggled into the soft pajama bottoms, I began to think that sleeping in my regular clothes would have been much simpler.

I almost let myself forget about the bathroom incident in the weight of weariness that had settled into my bones. It was only when I had the material of my night shirt tucked halfway down my chest that I heard the creak of a door behind me and I was reminded. My heart lodged itself in my throat, but I tried to calm myself. Logically, Peter had no reason to barge in there. It was more realistic that Will had woken up and decided he'd much rather sleep in his bed than on the floor. Now I had a new reason to worry. Damn. What if Christina was with him? Double damn.

The opening of the door was swiftly followed by a low, rumbling laugh. I would have recognized it anywhere, the sound had an uncanny ability to set my veins aflame. I was thankful that, at the very least, I'd been facing away from the door. This was low, even for Peter. Now he was just being inappropriate. I immediately pulled my shirt the rest of the way down, glad to know that all he saw were a few inches of skin on my lower back. I rounded on him then, ready to attack, but he cut me off before the words can even come out of my mouth.

"Oh wow. _Nice._ I mean, I figured all that anger was just pent up sexual aggression, but this is desperate, even for you," The knot in my stomach tightened as I glared up at him, unsure as to what part of changing in a room on my own was desperate. I was sure he'd be happy to tell me. I felt far less intimidating in my night clothes, especially since he had the advantage of height and size on me, but I still glared up at him defiantly. I wasn't going down without a fight - even if that meant touching his stupid bare chest to shove him. I was positive he realized that, because he raised his hands in a mock surrender, eyes wide and innocent despite the fact that I knew he was far from it.

"Why'd you come in here, Peter, can't I have even a little bit of privacy?"

"Well, I was planning on sleeping, but this is good, too." He smirked, pointedly looking me up and down before his cruel eyes found mine again. I hated him.

"Why don't you sleep in your _own_ room and leave me alone?" This was getting exhausting.

"Mm. Well. A little trouble there," He started, and I could tell he was trying to keep himself from grinning as he lifted his hand to measure a small distance between his thumb and forefinger, squinting one eye shut in the process. "This _is_ my room, so the better question here.." The glee in his eyes filled me with dread as he took another step forward, hands resting on his bare hips. I instinctively glanced down at the movement, rapidly looking up again as I was filled with regret - I couldn't help noticing that he had freckles on his stomach. "Is why are _you_ here?" I choked, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks as he jabbed a finger into my shoulder before pulling his hand back. I shouldn't have had to explain myself to _Peter_ of all people, especially when he was flat out lying, just to annoy me. He raised his brows with a crooked sort of smile.

"I- but this is Will's-"

"Shh. You don't need to make up excuses, Prior, it's just you and me - besides, how could you _possibly_ think this was Will's room? My name is on the board out front - or can you not read?" My stomach flipped - that wasn't right..earlier it had been on the other door - that was the whole reason I'd chosen _this_ room! He was right, though - just behind him I could see light bouncing off its surface - his whiteboard was unmistakably hanging on the door. I was in Peter's room, according to that.

If looks could kill, he would have been on the floor but, unfortunately, I didn't possess that ability. So he was still standing there, looking simultaneously amused and pleased with himself. He'd planned this just to embarrass me, I wasn't sure why I was even surprised by that fact, but it still stung to accept it. He laughed freely, arms crossed over his chest - I made it a point to stare at his chin. I didn't need to learn anything else about Peter or his freckles, thank you very much.

"Oh man, this is so sad. I mean, you're trying, and I'll give you points for that, but wow. It's like being threatened by a little girl, just look at you." My cheeks burned at the insult as he gestured to all of me - it wasn't the first time he'd used that line or something similar to it, but it didn't hurt any less this time than it had before. I was well aware of my figure, I'd never been anyone's idea of a grown woman; I still hadn't developed much and had no real curves to speak of, but he didn't need to compare me to a child.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he stepped out of the doorway and pointed to the hall, a smug expression on his face. "Really, I'm flattered, but I'm not interested. I only fuck big girls, maybe when you grow up. Go on to sleep now, it's beddy bye time," It shamed me to admit that the brazen use of the word made me blush, but hopefully he didn't catch that - I was already red-faced with anger.

He squatted slightly as I stepped towards the doorway to match my height, talking to me as though I were younger than him, and just like that I snapped. Without thinking, I threw my fist forward in his direction, I wanted to punch him in the face, but I ended up hitting the soft skin of his stomach instead. He was still infuriatingly warm. It was a lovely feeling, when my knuckles made contact and he buckled forward slightly, letting out a sharp " _Oof_ " as the wind was knocked from him. His eyes flared with anger and he flinched forward marginally, as though considering some kind of retaliation - I wasn't prepared to protect myself, the punch left me entirely undefended.

After a tense moment he dropped his fists, though, rubbing his stomach with a smile that didn't touch his eyes, and I took the opportunity to rear back and hit him again - this time I was determined to strike him in the face, I was still too angry. My second punch glanced harmlessly off of his forearm as he blocked it and, faster than I could register, his fingers tightened around my wrist in a vice. Suddenly his strength compared to mine was put into perspective for me. I expected to feel him punch me back, to retaliate, but he just held my arm in the air, flaunting his power over me. His expression was cold, calculating, and sent a shudder through me. If he wanted to hurt me, he could have easily - I got the feeling that he wouldn't feel any remorse, but I didn't feel any for hitting him, so maybe we were alike in that sense. The comparison made me sick.

"That wasn't very smart of you." Peter was staring down at me with his eyes narrowed, considering me for a long moment. I could tell I'd made him angry, he was no longer smirking and his jaw was set tight. Something about his quiet voice and the fact that he hadn't retaliated was somehow more alarming to me by far than if he'd punched me in the face. It reminded me of his sullen rage in the cafeteria. I yanked my wrist, hard, but he didn't let go just yet, squeezing tighter just to make a point. Slowly, he leaned in closer than I was comfortable with, until I could see that his pupils were blown out, making his eyes look black. He was breathing heavily.

"You should apologize while I'm feeling particularly forgiving," While I was glad to see the satisfied confidence from earlier wiped from his face, the one that replaced it - brooding and angry - was somehow worse. I felt the sinking suspicion that this was going to come back to bite me somehow, but that didn't make me feel bad for hitting him - he deserved it.

"You're such a prick," It wasn't the stabbing insult I'd hoped to shoot his way, but I couldn't think of anything clever when he was hovering in front of me, when his breath - an overpowering scent of cinnamon - was fanning my face "I'm not afraid of you.." I hissed. It didn't do anything to quell my anger when the corners of his lips tilted upward into a smile. The only label for that look in his eye would be dangerous. I'd stepped into the eye of the storm.

"We'll see about that."

His fingers released my wrist, finally, and I jerked it back to my body, rubbing the soreness out with my free hand. It was highly possible there would be bruises in the shape of his fingers there in the morning. He leaned back, freeing up the space of his doorway so that I could get by - I half expected him to shove me into the frame, or do something equally violent, but he just stood there - watching me. That was definitely worse. I turned my back on him warily, storming through Will's door, which I slammed pointedly behind me.

I made sure to lock it firmly before I did anything else, nearly falling over myself in the mess of a room - of course his habits hadn't changed. I should have known better. I realized about as soon as I picked my way through the minefield of dirty clothes, books, and shoes that my overnight bag was still sitting beside Peter's bed. Full of my clothes for tomorrow. I knew there was no way I could swallow my pride enough to go back out there and demand it from him, I would just devolve into violence again. The look on his face as he demanded an apology flashed in my mind again and I shivered, rubbing at my wrist absentmindedly. No. I'd deal with it in the morning, when things had cooled down, for the moment I needed to rest.

I dropped into Will's bed without even pulling up the covers and fell asleep in a matter of minutes, haunted by the feel of dark green eyes boring into my soul.

* * *

I swear Peter won't be a total prick forever, but for now he's an absolute fucker and I'm sorry about that. Had a lot of fun writing this chapter! There will be updates for my other story, soon, but I had to spend the last week or so rewriting all of this, I decided I wasn't a fan of the present tense so here we are now. Reviews are always much appreciated! Thank you so much to those of you who have been reviewing, following, and favoriting! Your feedback makes me super happy.


	4. Marcid

Marcid

(n.) withered; incredibly exhausted

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Thanks so much for all the support and feedback! I really appreciate all of the kind words - now on to the new chapter, enjoy it!

* * *

A loud buzzing in my ear woke me abruptly, and, in the otherwise pitch black room, Will's alarm clock glared from my right, blaring the time at me in agonizingly bright letters. It was just past seven in the morning, which didn't leave me a very big window to get across campus in time to take my final exam. Without hesitation, I heaved myself out of bed and stretched, nearly tripping a couple dozen times over Will's mess before I finally found the door handle.

I gave it a jiggle, feeling frustrated when it didn't budge - it was then that I remembered two important details. I'd punched Peter last night, hard enough to warrant bruises on my wrist..and my things were still in his room. Damn it. I unlocked Will's door quickly and stormed into the hall, going right up to Peter's room. My first instinct was to not wake him, not out of kindness, but because it meant I didn't have to see the smug look on his face when I asked for my things back, so I tried the door. He had no reason to lock it, right?

Wrong.

I roughly jiggled it just to make sure, but he had most definitely locked it. Giving up on stealth, I banged my fist against his door a few times - I'd have loved nothing more than to irritate him now that I'd given up letting him sleep. Unfortunately, my friends were still asleep just down the hall and I didn't want to wake them, let alone have to explain why I was beating on the door of someone I hated at seven in the morning like a lunatic. When he didn't respond I felt myself crumple - I didn't have time to go home and change, so I'd either have to take my exam late or go in my pajamas.

Did he know my bag was in there? He had to - his room was immaculate, there was no way he'd have overlooked it. I scowled at his whiteboard, feeling as though it was mocking me, and roughly erased the message from it out of sheer spite before storming away. I was suddenly thankful that my choice of night clothes were tasteful - and I was sure I wouldn't be the only one in my lecture hall in PJs. Defeated, and close to being late, I resigned to toeing on my shoes and sluggishly grabbing my jacket off the hook - my only other stop was to swipe a cup of cold coffee from their inactive machine - before leaving as quietly as I could manage.

After that I moved in autopilot, running to campus, sliding into my chair and answering the questions before me when the exam was finally handed out. It wasn't until after I got out of the lecture hall two and a half grueling hours later, that I realized my phone was dead. I had hoped on going back to Will's place after everything was finished and demanding my things back, but I had no way of checking to see if he was even home. Great. In a way, I was thankful for the need to go home first - I might have been okay with going to my exam dressed the way I was, but I didn't want to parade around the block in my pajamas. I desperately needed to change before I went anywhere else - my phone was just the final straw. The bag could wait a little longer.

Once I made it into our apartment and had plugged the phone up to charge, I plopped down in my computer chair, waiting for it to turn on. Knowing Christina, she'd already texted me with plans for celebration - I felt a little bad for her and Al, the pair of them would have to sit through two finals today - so I didn't need to find out at the last minute. As soon as it turned on, I wished I hadn't bothered with the thing - just watching the notifications pop up was exhausting.

I wasn't typically that popular, but then, it just figured that when it was dead I'd get the most attention, right? By the time it finished buzzing at me, there were six texts in total. One was from, surprise surprise, Christina, saying we'd all be meeting up at The Pit; non-negotiable. The next was Al's, telling me he'd gotten his results from the Criminology exam he'd taken a few days ago and that he'd passed with flying colors, so that wasn't as bad.

Then there were the remaining four to deal with. They were from a number I didn't recognize - the first was a picture message, which filled me with wariness. I wasn't sure what to expect as I prepared to open it, I found myself worrying that, maybe, I'd become a victim of the dreaded phenomena I'd heard people on campus, as well as Christina at length, complaining about.

I shuddered at the thought of a stranger sending me private pictures of themselves, but forced myself to open it, one eye closed and the other squinted, ready to close entirely at the first hint of genitalia. The image was, thankfully, not any part of anyone's anatomy, but I felt my stomach clench with dread all the same. It was my overnight bag, sitting open in Peter's bedroom floor right where I'd left it. Lovely. At least I knew who it was.

[10:34AM] Unknown: _If this is a gift, it's a really shitty one. There aren't even any panties._

[10:39AM] Unknown: _Aw, don't ignore me, I was kidding about the panties. I don't want yours._

[10:46AM] Unknown: _You can have this back, but I'd like something in return for my kindness._

[10:52AM] Unknown: _I'm getting bored waiting. Give me an answer by noon or I'm trashing it._

I scowled at my phone, thinking to myself that it was over. There wasn't anything in that stupid bag worth the amount of pride I'd have to swallow to retrieve, right? I was almost positive it was mostly toiletries, I could replace them easily, and my clothes of course - also replaceable. It felt too much like losing to just let him have my things, though, and I silently cursed. My attention was drawn, temporarily, to my left wrist, which was ringed in a light shade of purple from where his fingers had held on last night.

I wondered if I'd left a bruise on his stomach, but doubted it. That left a sour taste in my mouth. If I fought him, he'd win; if I didn't fight him, he'd win. I was almost positive I had enough time to run the few blocks' distance from my place to his and demand my things back before it was noon - a cursory glance at the clock told me I had a fifteen minute window - but l sat in my seat, glaring down at my phone instead.

I knew that, if I were to ask, Christina would tell me to ignore him, that he'd just get bored and leave it for Will to pick up for me, but I didn't want to ask her about this situation and have to explain how I'd even gotten myself into that predicament in the first place. Giving myself advice in her stead did little to curb the edge on my anger - I wasn't able to follow it at all. The stubborn side of me knew ignoring him would have been the coward's way out - I couldn't quite swallow that pill. The sound of a new notification pulled me out of my internal struggle, and I glanced down to find another message from Peter. Another picture. It took me a few minutes to realize that it was a picture of my dream journal.

Damn it.

[11:46AM] Peter Hayes: _Pretty interesting stuff in here, Prior. Who knew you could string together this many sentences? Color me impressed._

[11:46AM] Me: _Stop going through my things!_

Rather than hearing another tinkling chime of a notification, I was startled by the sound of my ringtone blaring at me, and nearly jumped out of my skin. One glance down at the illuminated device in my hand told me that Peter Hayes was calling me. The bastard. I stared at the androgynous blob that stood in for his profile picture and considered not answering it.

I wasn't sure I could handle his stupid, smug tone right then, but the dream log wasn't something I wanted to lose..or to go public or something. It was my only connection to the insane world I lived in, only during sleep, I still hadn't sat down and read the mindless writing within, but I suddenly felt passionately protective of that little book, now that I knew whose hands it was in. With a sigh of defeat, I flicked my thumb over the 'accept' button, and lifted the phone to my ear. The first sound I registered was his laughter - it was like nails on a chalkboard.

"Are you scowling? I can hear it, you totally are. You shouldn't do that-you'll get wrinkles faster that way.."

"Get to the point, Peter."

"Killjoy." I didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, I sighed and leaned back into my desk chair, pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand - I still hadn't changed or taken a shower, but then, even if I wanted to, Peter had my supplies. I hated him so much. "Okay, so I figure I should get some kind of finder's fee, or _something_ , y'know? I mean, who else would save all your stuff from being thrown out or stolen? No one. Now I know, I know - the soap and stuff isn't worth a favor, but I'm betting this book of yours is pretty important - and spare me the speech about righteousness, I've just eaten, I don't need to throw up a perfectly good lunch."

If it was even possible, I frowned harder. What an asshole. "You didn't _rescue_ my things, you tricked me and then locked them in your room with you. Not the same thing. If anything _you_ stole them."

"So you _did_ try to get in this morning. I thought so." He sounded proud of himself, I fought back a scoff, and glared at my bedroom wall with growing hatred. He was absolutely not making it easy on me at all, but I hadn't exactly expected him to. "You know, if you wanted to see me naked that badly, all you had to do was ask. Don't get me wrong-I'd have said no, but you could still ask." My nails dug deep into my palms as I swallowed a groan of frustration, I didn't want him to know he was pushing my buttons - I wouldn't give him that kind of power.

Or, rather, any more than he already had. "Besides, I can't steal something you left in my room - that's just you being neglectful. You wanna fight me on this, then you get get to explain why you had an overnight bag there in the first place. I bet your whole 'I thought it was _Will's_ room' argument will be _super_ convincing." I wanted to hit him so badly. I could hear him grinning from ear to ear, it was easy to picture the corners of his lips turned up into that sneer of his that I hated so much.

"Yes. I tried to get my stuff back, but unfortunately you're an _ass_ hole so that didn't happen. What do you _want,_ Peter?" I didn't mean to sound as tired as I did, I'd intended for that sentence to be full of venom, but I couldn't find it in me. I was drained, and spread too thin. Between his stupid antics and the exhausting week of finals, I didn't want to argue with him over such a childish issue. We were adults for God's sake. I just wanted to get my things and take a nice warm shower - to rest my sore muscles and not think about him or his infuriating friends in the - hopefully - peaceful weeks to come before dealing with the police academy. But no. I was there - arguing with him over a fucking duffel bag. It was equally frustrating and baffling.

"Ooh, such language. It's unbecoming of you, Beatrice." Bastard. "So..what _do_ I want?" He was happy to drag it out, making a soft 'hmm' as though he hadn't considered until now what he wanted out of this. I could easily conjure up an image of him rubbing his chin thoughtfully - it filled me with rage. I knew better than to believe he hadn't thought this all over, very carefully, but I didn't correct him. I stayed stubbornly silent.

He wanted to get a rise out of me, if I were to just shut up, and let him listen to the sound of his own voice, this call would be shorter and we could come to a resolution about my things much quicker. Or, so I hoped, anyway. I noticed when my palm brushed my cheek that my face was hot to the touch, which only proved to annoy me further. Why was he so good at working me into a rage? "I think I'll settle on..hmm..you taking me out for dinner," I must have heard that wrong. I absolutely did not hear what I thought I did.

"Excuse me?" Peter wanted me to take him out..to dinner? I wracked my brain, trying to figure out his angle, waiting for him to shout about how he was kidding. Instead he chuckled on his end. It sounded weird through the speakers, softer than usual. It was disarming - I wanted to be off of the line with him as quickly as possible, I didn't want to hear any more noises that were softened over our connection. My mouth pulled down into a scowl, but almost immediately winced and relaxed my expression. The muscles in my face hurt from all the scowls and frowns I'd trained into my features as of late - it wasn't as though I were a particularly sunny person on a good day, but this was even more severe than usual. I blamed that on Peter as well as my mounting headache.

"You heard me, Prior. I want you to take me out on _one_ date. I'm not into you, I know you've got this huge crush on me but that's not what this is about, just so we're clear, I only want to make you uncomfortable. This way I get to embarrass you in public and you can't just throw food in my face - that's a stipulation by the way - plus I get a free meal out of it."

I had been shocked into silence. This had to be some kind of sick joke, but as I thought about it, I suddenly realized that it _was_. The date itself was a twisted jape, and I was the punchline. He sighed on his end, sounding impatient. Good. I happily made the prick wait, he was talking about forcing me out in public, about me spending my own money to entertain the pair of us, when all I wanted to do was punch him until he fell unconscious. He could wait a few more moments in anticipation - it served him right to get some kind of punishment out of this.

"Do we have a deal, or do I need to go find a dumpster?"

"Fine." I snapped, more harshly than I'd expected to - he laughed. Damn it. "Not tonight - I have plans - and I don't want you touching my things any more than you already have, or the deal's off." I forced myself to say through gritted teeth, the words dripping with venom. _I hate you_ is what I meant to say. I hoped he could hear the unsaid words - he was fairly smart, I imagined he was capable of reading between the lines. I'd agree to his game, but I didn't have to be happy about it, though part of me was sure that he was glad for my displeasure. That was the whole point, after all, wasn't it?

"Perfect. I'll text you the details. I'm glad to hear we could come to some kind of agreement - after all, it would be such a shame to see that journal wind up in the hands of..oh, I dunno, maybe some of the people we'll be working with in the academy?" Rather than reply to him, I pulled my phone away, surprised at how warm it was in my hand, and ended the call before throwing it off to the side. I rested my hands on my face and let out a groan, wondering what I'd done to deserve this kind of punishment, when I heard another irritating chirp from my phone - two, to be exact. Great. What now?

[11:47AM] Peter Hayes: _You're taking me somewhere nice - so make sure your friend picks your outfit. It won't be casual. ;)_

[11:47AM] Peter Hayes: _We'll go tomorrow night at 6, I'll tell you where on the way._

One look down filled me with regret - fire was scorching through my veins and I wanted nothing more than to hit something. Some _one_. I wanted to punch Peter again, to take out all of my pent up rage on him until my knuckles were raw and his face was unrecognizable. It would have been far simpler than dealing with this. Without hesitation I grabbed the closest pillow and buried my face in it before screaming my frustration out until I had no air left and my throat was raw.

If I could have killed Peter and gotten away with it, I would have in an instant. I really and truly would have. Instead, I laid down with my pillow over my face, wondering for the millionth time what on earth I could have done to warrant this kind of insanity in my life. I'd been a good daughter, a good student, I didn't deserve Peter fucking Hayes.

No one deserved that.

* * *

"It's really not that hard, Tris," Christina chastised me with a playful tone - though she had to yell to be heard over the music. She had originally convinced me to leave the booth - where I'd been brooding all night - under the guise of buying more drinks, which drunk me was absolutely on board for. That had been a lie, it seemed, and by the time I noticed her pulling me into the crowd of sweating bodies that seemed to be ever constant in the heart of The Pit, it was too late to run away. She gently tugged at my wrists as I stood there awkwardly, flinching each time a stranger brushed my arm - I didn't want to be there and, even in my inebriated state, I knew I wasn't the kind of person who could just let loose and dance like she wanted me to. I felt uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Her eyes were challenging me, though, and suddenly the little voice that always got me into trouble started whispering in my ear, telling me that I'd stood up to Peter so I could stand up to this, too. It might even be fun. I was just about drunk enough to believe it. A few hours prior to this, we'd all met up at the same booth as we'd been in the last time, and shared a few rounds of drinks. I didn't mention Peter to any of them, but drank more heavily than I usually would, in the hopes of forgetting that I'd agreed to his idiotic blackmail.

If I was being honest with myself, I'd had entirely too much for someone who never did that sort of thing, but I decided that I'd earned it, and that I didn't care about the consequences. I was angry, and free to do whatever I pleased. The alcohol made my head fuzzy and the room was subtly spinning, but I'd been having a good time up until all of..however many minutes ago it had been since I'd been tricked by my best friend. Christina began to dance with reckless abandon as I shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to do with my body. Was this what fun felt like? The part of me that I'd been listening to more and more was convincing me to dance, that was what I'd decided on, right? Not being a coward - which meant dancing if it scared me.

So I frowned and paid closer attention to the way she was moving, I could feel my face burning, and I wasn't entirely convinced it didn't have more to do with my own embarrassment than it did with the alcohol in my system, or the heat of the crowd around me. In the name of stamping out my own cowardice, I let my arms become more limber until Christina was tugging and twisting me to and fro with ease, mimicking those around us. She grinned victoriously; after a few minutes of this, I was almost positive I understood what she was trying to get me to do, and started to move the rest of my body along to the beat.

It made my skin prickle with something akin to shame when her hands dropped from mine, and my movements were entirely my own. What if someone saw me like this? The thought alone had my stomach in knots. I swallowed hard, and tried to ignore the negative emotions balling up inside of me, threatening to ruin my otherwise good night. I focused, instead, on the warm, light feeling the alcohol had given me, and the steady rhythm that pulsated around us. It wasn't difficult, I could feel it in my chest and - it was a struggle to hear anything else in the room outside of the music that drove us on.

As I danced, I tried to root out my anxiety, to convince myself that I wasn't doing anything to be ashamed of, everyone else on the floor was moving similarly enough. Well, not everyone - most of them were grinding on their partners - but I knew for a fact that I wouldn't be doing any of _that_ dancing. No thank you. After a little longer, Christina gave me a thumbs up and shouted to me that I'd most definitely gotten the hang of it.

I still felt slow, and out of place compared to everyone else around me, but it was a nice comfort to know that my body kept with the momentum and moved without her pulling my strings. I couldn't tell you how long we danced, but I could feel beads of sweat across my brow and along the back of my neck, and it was difficult to breathe, so I peeled myself out of the crowd. Sluggishly, I made my way up to the bar, where my double stared at me through a thin pane of glass; the air was colder there, much to my relief.

We were identical and yet nothing alike, my double and I; we shared the same grey-blue eyes and long blond hair, she wore the same outfit that Christina had picked out for me earlier that day, but that was where the similarities stopped. I could never glow the way the other version of myself in the mirror was, nearly vibrating with energy. She looked like she belonged there - I could never be her. My focus was torn away from the bar, and my alter ego, when I felt a clumsy arm drape over my shoulders, causing me to turn and find the source.

Christina. Of course. I smiled even wider, if that was possible, and slung my arm around her so that we stood hip to hip, giggling like a pair of school girls. At what, I couldn't tell you, but it was fun. The bartender was polite, but declined to sell us any more alcohol - I couldn't exactly blame him for that - so we turned and very, very carefully made our way back down the steps and onto the dance floor.

Somehow Christina managed to convince me to dance with her for a while longer, before my head began to clear a little, and my self-consciousness got the better of me. I leaned into her, yelling against the music, "Weren't we hanging out with Will and Al?" To which her eyes widened guiltily and she nodded. That had been easier than I could have hoped. By the time we managed to make it back to the booth, both of them were sitting with amused expressions at the sight of us.

I got the feeling we'd broken up a conversation I didn't care to hear. Al smiled at me with upraised brows, and I found myself giggling at the sight of his face. It was bright red. Had it always been that way? He looked silly. Will was talking about work out regiments for us, which was not at all what I wanted to hear right then. I wanted to pretend that I wouldn't be spending the next few weeks of freedom working myself to the bone in preparation for the academy.

The talking continued, it sounded like there was a heated debate going on, but it was like I had cotton in my ears. All I could do was stare at the colored lights on the walls and, if I squinted just right, I could see what The Pit looked like without all the club atmosphere and the things that my brain told me didn't belong there. It was rustic and filled with laughter and shouting and danger, but the fun kind. I shook my head and blinked a few times, surprised at the image and how real it felt. Just like that, everything went back to normal, and I could hear again. What I heard took my mood from pleasant and bubbly to livid in a matter of minutes. Or at least, I was pretty sure it was minutes. Time wasn't easy to follow in the current state I'd drank myself into.

"So Peter's been in a good mood for a change, what's the big deal with that? Isn't that a _good_ thing?" I heard Al ask, and scrunched up my face, glancing their way in time to see Will shoot me a worried look. Great. His brows pinched together and the crease between them grew momentarily - it almost felt like he hadn't wanted me to hear that.

"Yeah no, absolutely not. If I've learned anything at all from being roomed with that asshole is it's never good if he's happy. He was strutting around earlier like he'd been named chief of fucking police - I don't know what he's up to, but it can't be anything pleasant."

"I _hate_ him," Was all I could manage to say. It felt like I had cotton in my mouth and in my brain at that point, so I couldn't really do much for the conversation, but they all looked at me with half hearted smiles that I hated, too. How dare they pity me. "I hit him, yaknow, real hard, and he got _mad_ ," I felt myself blurting out without meaning to. No, I thought desperately, they didn't need to know about last night. They would pity me - they wouldn't understand that I had stood my ground, defended myself.

I wasn't weak. I could feel all three of them glance down at my wrist, at the light ring of bruises he'd left there, so I covered it self consciously. Any bubbly happiness I'd felt before was gone, no trace to be found. Suddenly, my head was pounding and my mouth tasted bad; my stomach hurt and I was angry. Leave it to Peter to ruin a good thing without even stepping foot into the room. At least I'd been reminded as to why I'd been drinking so much in the first place.

"Tris are you..alright?" Christina asked, her brows knitted together, but I rolled my eyes and waved her off, sitting up a little straighter with as convincing of a smirk as I could manage. I just conjured up the image of Peter buckled over after my fist had collided with his stomach. That did the trick.

"Absolutely wonderful."

Somewhere between the start of the topic and my sudden spell of rage, Will slipped from the table and returned with a round of shots. Normally I would have declined, but tonight I was the first to grab a shot glass. They started up talking about the academy again, trying to make light humor, but my full focus was on the dark brown liquid in my glass. I couldn't get the image of narrowed green eyes and that ridiculous smirk out of my head. _"You should apologize, while I'm feeling particularly forgiving."_

I found myself wishing that I'd hit him in the face. Christina's tinkling laughter caught my attention and I glanced over in time to see her glass raised as she looked to me with concern in her eyes. I opted to stare at the wall behind her head, rather than risk her seeing into my soul and seeing the truth. I didn't want to explain myself. She'd question me, I knew she would, but right then I didn't want to think about anything at all.

"To freedom," I was surprised at my voice, at it being loud enough to cut through their chatter about which was more important for running, endurance or speed, but the others seemed to like that, so they chimed in and repeated the phrase back to me. One shot turned into three, and what little bit of sobriety I'd gotten back since dancing, had been swept away in a fog of foul tasting liquor and laughter. At some point I got up from the booth and went for a walk, though I couldn't remember doing so.

During the walk I'd fished my phone from my pocket, angrily convinced that I'd give Peter a piece of my mind. It sounded like an absolutely wonderful idea as I pressed the small plastic block to my cheek, and listened to it ring on and on. I almost thought he might not answer - maybe that would have been for the best. About the time I planned to end the call, though, I heard him pick up. I could just hear the rustling of fabric and a tired groan. I'd woken him up - good. Just-woken-Peter sounded husky, his voice rough and slow, which was something I could have gone my entire life without knowing.

"Jesus Prior, why are you calling me at-" There was a pause and more rustling, maybe he was rolling around to find his alarm clock, and I felt a growing sense of discomfort. Why _was_ I calling him, exactly? Why would I willingly talk to this absolute prick? "At _two-thirty_ in the _morning?_ I get it - you want me, but can't it wait? I was having the _hottest_ dream-" He paused for a moment and I prepared to jump in, to yell at him, but he started talking again too soon. He sounded pleased with himself suddenly. Damn it. "Hold on. What the hell's all that noise-wait..are you. Oh my god. Are you drunk dialing me?"

I scowled and leaned against the wall, I'd ducked into an alcove further away from all the noise - it didn't lead anywhere and I suspected it was more for people to disappear from prying eyes than anything, but I was tired and my head was full of insane dreams of making Peter feel small and insignificant. Of convincing him that I could come and get my things without being bribed. I needed to stay strong and on point and not be distracted by his stupid confidence. Slowly I leaned my head back against the wall and felt the coolness of the rocks there seep into my skull.

"Shut up - tha's not the point."

"Holy shit, you _are!"_ He cackled into the line, suddenly sounding far more awake than he had been a few minutes ago. Great. I'd just served to amuse him, to make it look like I was some desperate girl calling him for..what exactly did he assume? I didn't want to think about it - I could hear lips smacking around the corner and shuddered to think of the couple I was bothering with this phone call. Shit. What was I thinking? I began to pace, pinching the bridge of my nose. Right. I needed to set Peter straight. I didn't like him, I didn't _want_ him - I hated him more than anything else. I could do this.

"Shut _up._ Y'know what, Peter-Y-you're an asshole, ugh! What's your fucking _problem?_ "

Things got a little foggy after that.

* * *

My walk up into the ring was slow, nervous - I shot a glance over my shoulder at the cloud of fog that hid the man who had doomed me. He'd sent me up here because he was angry at something - at me, I thought - but I didn't know why or what for. I really didn't even know what made me so sure that I was doomed just by walking onto the hard mat, but I knew it was true. Before I could really respond, pain blossomed in my head and I was suddenly aware of a blur much taller than myself across the ring.

Something in me knew the size wouldn't hinder them. They're large, but fast, tall, but lean - they're dangerous. They're my opponent. I didn't have time for any other thoughts before the blur jabbed at me again. On pure instinct I ducked, and threw my fist forward - it landed solidly, and the mass of blurry shades of black took a few steps away from me to recover. I was aware of pain in my hand and in my head, a constant, pulsing being reminding me of the danger that I was in. It pulsated in my ears like music.

The blur - no, the man, I corrected myself - the _man_ across from me jabbed out again, striking me with his foot - the pain in my ribs was like fire and I cried out. He easily struck again and knocked me to the mat. I didn't stay there long, though, something told me if I did, this would be all over; I had to stay up. On my feet. So I tried to attack him again, tried to even the playing field, but my head was buzzing with pain, and there was sweat in my eyes. It was hard to breathe, each intake brought with it a stabbing pain. My opponent attacked again, spiraling me backwards and shoving my face into the mat with seemingly no effort at all on his part.

 _He'll kick me_ , I thought desperately, _he'll kick me, and I'll be done for._ I shakily rose to my feet once again, but only just, and tried to go on the offensive. My blows were parried easily, and instead I was met with a hard jab to my torso that left me buckled over. He took the opportunity to sweep my feet from beneath me and pain ripped through me like I'd never experienced before. _Peter_.

I'm not sure why I thought of him as the edges of my vision turned to black, but the ball of shadows towering over me could be his size. Could be him. I could almost hear him laughing, cackling in his victory over me - taunting my every flinch and yelp. He kicked at me, hard, like I'd feared, in my ribs and stomach, and the pain was all I knew.

I tasted blood, then everything went black.

* * *

Before even fully waking, I was aware of my feet on the cold tile, of my legs carrying me out of my room into the hall. My shoulder slammed roughly into the closest wall after a few seconds of suspended movement, so I opted to use it for support. My knees felt like gelatin, my tongue like sandpaper - and don't even get me started on my head.

I barely made it to our small bathroom in time, immediately crumpling to the floor where I proceeded to empty the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl. One arm was wrapped around it for support while the other looped back to hold my hair from my face - I had done this as the supporting friend for Christina before, but rarely had I been in this condition myself.

It was just as bad as I remembered it being the last time I'd found myself like this, when I'd tried hard alcohol back in our sophomore year and hadn't eaten properly. Even as my body was racked with convulsions and I was gagging on my mistakes from the night before, the dream I'd just had was still crisp and clear in my mind. It was all I could focus on through the affair - which was somehow worse.

There were jolts of fresh pain shooting through my skull after a solid five minutes, but I'd finally stopped puking, so that was a small victory. Trembling, with tears on my cheeks, I spat into the toilet one last time before forcing myself to my knees and flushing my shame away. I began to run water in the sink without glancing up into the mirror once, feeling weak and thin. I made due with mouth wash in lieu of my perfectly good toothbrush, still locked up in Peter's room I'd bet.

Memories from last night were less real to me than the feeling of being kicked in the ribs, of dark green eyes, nearly black, burning through me with pure rage. I was startled out of my reverie by that image - as far as I could remember from the dream, I'd been fighting a shadow of a person - how could I have possibly known their eye color? Almost without meaning to, my brain settled on the most logical answer; that I was filling in the blanks my dream left behind with the fresh fight I'd had with Peter in his and Will's apartment.

That was the only explanation that made any sense, as I was absolutely positive I'd never had a real, physical fight like that one - no holds barred. Especially not with him. Absentmindedly, I rubbed at my ribs. There were no bruises but I felt internal pain, like my brain was convinced I'd taken an actual beating. I noticed with a small burn of satisfaction that the ring of purple around my wrist wasn't nearly as severe this morning. Small victories.

Once my mouth was washed clean and my hands were dry, I stumbled back into my bedroom and three things were brought to my immediate attention. One: I was still wearing the clothes Christina had picked out for me last night, they were crumpled and twisted, reeking of sweat and alcohol; Two: My phone was lying on the floor near my comforter, which meant I must have slept with it; and Three: Said device was blinking at me with unread notifications. I scowled at it, considering stomping on the small piece of machinery to get out of dealing with it - instead, I settled for walking around the irritating thing, like it was a crime scene.

I fished out a pair of underwear, soft sweatpants and a tank top from my dresser, and went right back out into the hall. Surely Christina wouldn't mind if I borrowed her soap and shampoo just once. A hot shower, I was sure, would clear my head and ease the throbbing pain in the back of my skull. Part of me wanted to write down the dream that still floated behind my eyes each time they closed, but I didn't. It was still too raw, and besides, it wasn't like I had my dream journal anyway.

Half an hour later, I was clean, comfortable and had forced myself to eat a meager meal of scrambled eggs between two pieces of toast. That had been a definite upside of our study circles - it gave Christina and I an excuse to go shopping for much needed groceries. My temples were still throbbing, and it felt like I'd swallowed acid, but I felt marginally better than I had upon waking up, so it was an improvement.

My phone was resting by my head, still blinking; I hadn't unlocked it yet. My chances of finding a message from Christina were just as likely as it being another series of irritating taunts from Peter, but I had an anxious feeling in my gut that told me it was bad regardless. I'd been wracking my brain for what happened last night - but the images faded in and out - my last solid memory was of wanting to go for a walk, but after that..nothing.

It raised questions on how I got home, but I couldn't seem to remember more than fuzzy snippets of loud music and faces I couldn't quite bring into focus. I had the distinct memory of arguing with someone, but I couldn't imagine who that would have been - or why. I groaned in frustration, then, giving in despite wanting to put this off for as long as possible, and unlocked my phone. The dread was worse than the act, I told myself, it was like a band-aid. I just needed to rip it off already. My eyes were squinted at the screen, hoping against hope that I'd just have some message letting me know Christina was okay. I sighed in irritation at what I found. Of course it was Peter. With my luck lately, what else could I have expected?

[3:13AM] Peter Hayes: Thanks for the entertainment that was worth waking up for ;)

[10:38AM] Peter Hayes: I bet you've got a hangover from hell. Better recover before our date.

[10:55AM] Peter Hayes: Don't forget, I'll be there at 5:30. Remember to dress up, it's a requirement - and no backing out just because you drank too much last night.

I scowled at the texts, torn between confusion and anger. What _entertainment_ was he talking about? I vaguely recalled Christina convincing me to dance, and it wasn't exactly crazy to assume that Peter had been at The Pit last night, but if he had been why hadn't I seen him? I couldn't imagine he wouldn't take the opportunity to hold our arrangement over my head just to piss me off - especially in front of my friends. So if that wasn't it, then what was it? Why was he texting me at three in the morning, anyway?

Even more importantly than that, how had he known I was trashed without being there to see it? That wasn't something I did regularly, maybe a total of five or six times in my whole four years of college, so it wasn't something that could be left up to assumptions based on me telling him I had plans. I had to guess that either Molly or Drew had been there last night, I'd been far too out of it to even think of looking for them in the haze of alcohol. I could feel the rage burning in my stomach, and considered calling him, but I got the feeling that his voice wouldn't do my hangover any favors.

[12:30PM] Me: _What entertainment? Why were you texting me at 3 in the morning?_

I sent Christina a text, too, asking her where she was and what happened last night - I could only hope she'd crashed at Will's apartment, since her bedroom door was wide open and the room was empty when I passed it earlier. Peter's response was almost immediate, which only irritated me further, had he been waiting around for me to reply all this time? I wouldn't put it past him. I imagined that, in his downtime, he plotted the destruction and humiliation of people like me. It wasn't like he had much better to do, that I knew of, since that seemed to be what he derived pleasure from.

[12:31AM] Peter Hayes: Oh wow you so don't get to ask that after YOU called and woke ME up from an amazing dream last night. How's that hangover by the way? ;)

I sucked in a breath through my teeth and rapidly checked my call log - he was just messing with me, right? What reason could I possibly have had for calling him? My stomach tightened as I read the screen, he was right, I _did_ have an outgoing call to his number, time stamped at 2:30 AM. Great. How did I respond to that? Of course I wanted to know what was said, and had half a mind to interrogate him about it, but how could I trust Peter to be honest with me about it? I texted Christina again, this time asking her to come home as quickly as possible. I needed to talk to someone I didn't hate - especially someone other than Peter, before I lost my mind.

Apparently I'd been silent for too long, because I could suddenly hear my ringtone buzzing and, _of course_ , he was calling me. I scowled, swiping my thumb over the ignore button rather than just letting it ring so that he knew that I'd intentionally snubbed him. I already had to go out on a date with this jerk, there was no way I was enduring his laughter at my expense with the kind of headache I already had.

When I pressed my hands to my face I found the skin there was burning hot, and I wasn't sure how much of that was anger and how much was shame. I suddenly felt like I might throw up my breakfast. Four texts buzzed against my palm in rapid succession; I glanced down at the device with the hope it was Christina and not Peter. At least I got half of my wish. Or..a third, really.

[12:38AM] Christina: Loooong story be home soon :) :) ps wow can u dance white girl!

[12:38AM] Al: hey just wanted to see if you were feeling ok after last night hope you slept ok

[12:39AM] Peter Hayes: It's rude to ignore people, you know, shame on you.

[12:39AM] Peter Hayes: I'll forgive you just this once. I like you better when you're drunk, by the way.

Peter's text made me consider cancelling our..date, I shuddered at the thought of enduring him, but it made me angrier to accept defeat from him than it did to consider tolerating him in public for a few hours. I quickly texted a 'just fine, thanks' to Al and threw my phone down on the bed without another glance. After a few seconds of sitting there wallowing in my frustration, I threw my covers back and started to pace, wringing my hands in frustration.

I couldn't handle any more texts or revelations or much of anything at all at that point so I stormed out of my room all together, forgetting about the stupid device. I focused my efforts on brewing a fresh pot of coffee while waiting for Christina to get that turned into laying back on the couch and resting my eyes to ease the pain throbbing behind them.

That quickly devolved into full out sleeping again.

As soon as I drifted off the darkness behind my lids faded until I was in a training room - the one that frequented my dreams. It was clearer than before, no fog in sight, but there weren't any people in the room, at least, none that I could see from my current position. I was aware of my bare feet sticking to the mat and a nervous, cold perspiration on my brow. I could smell sweat and blood, and suddenly, I heard a voice taunting me - a voice I knew so well I didn't even have to turn around to know exactly who it belonged to. My confusion immediately boiled away to hatred.

"You okay, Stiff?" I turned to face him then, not surprised by the slur I didn't understand on his lips - Peter stood across from me, already in a defensive pose with a sneer on his lips. He looked different, younger maybe, harder. More dangerous. His eyes were almost black, pupils blown out to claim the usual green I'd come to know, his flesh was covered in a light sheen of sweat and his hair was less shaggy, it coiled around his face neatly, each curl tightly in place. I knew how this would end, but it didn't make me any less angry about it as he spoke up again - somehow I was throbbing with pain, had the fight already started? Had he already struck me?

"I might go easy on you if you cry."

* * *

Whew. So much more interaction with Peter and Tris on a less violent, angry level will be coming up in the next chapter. I'm super excited with how this is coming along! Thank you as always to those of you who have left reviews and kudos, they're always super encouraging! If you have suggestions or even suspicions of what's to come, feel free to leave them in the comments, I'd love to hear about them!

Also, I'd like to know if anyone wants a small oneshot featuring the full conversation Tris and Peter have (featuring more information about that dream of his ;D) because I've been considering doing it, the details of their call don't fit well into the flow of this story, so I won't be including it in the actual chapters.

I'll see you lovelies next week! D


	5. Sangfroid

_Sangfroid_  
 _(n) composure or coolness shown under trying circumstances_

* * *

When Christina finally made it home, her entry was loud enough to wake me - which I was grateful for. I'd broken into a cold sweat and my hands were shaking at the powerful memory of my recurring dream. I couldn't stop seeing Peter bearing down on me, his fists bringing blood bubbling to the surface of my face. At first I thought it was vivid enough that I was still tasting remnants of the coppery liquid from the sleeping world I'd left, but when my teeth brushed the edge of my tongue I found it raw and sore - I'd bitten it in my sleep. Ouch.

My focus shifted from the phantom -and actual- pain I was experiencing, to my best friend standing in the doorway to remove her jacket. Her hair was a mess, her skin paler than usual and she looked like she knew exactly how I felt in the hangover department, but that didn't stop her from grinning - so that had to be a good sign. I forced myself up from the couch, rubbing the injured area on my tongue against my gums at varying pressures to test how painful it was. The answer was very.

Once I was able to get a good look at her, I noted that she was still wearing the same clothes she'd been in last night, though hers looked far less crumpled than mine had been. I raised my brows at her in accusation and she shot me a look that was far less effective than it normally might have been due to the fact that she almost immediately broke into giggles. Christina was _blushing._ Guess that had to do with the long story. Her distraction was exactly what I needed so I pulled on my best attempt at a chastising, authoritative face and crossed my arms over my chest, tapping my foot impatiently for added effect.

"And just where have _you_ been all night, young lady?" She laughed and cupped her hands over her face, so I counted that as a victory.

"Give me like, twenty minutes to get cleaned up and changed, and we'll talk, okay?"

It wasn't what I wanted to hear - I wanted to talk to her, to have her comfort me and tell me that I had every right to not go out with Peter tonight. That I didn't need to prove he had power over me by following his demands, mysterious dreams weren't worth that. Instead of complaining, I let her pass with a nod and a sigh, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and fetching a glass of water. I needed to wash the strong taste of copper out of my mouth - maybe then I'd stop getting those flashes of an imaginary fight blaring at me from behind my eyelids.

It helped a little. With that taken care of, I retired to the couch again, stretching out as large as I could to take up as much space as possible. It wasn't as nice as a bed, but there was no way I was returning to my room _or_ my phone just yet. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone but Christina right at that moment.

Our apartment was filled with the sound of water hitting the shower floor and music, some of which I recognized as songs played at The Pit. It made me feel a little less terrible. I rested my hands on my stomach, fingers locked, and thought over how I was going to start this. I'd planned the speech in my head a couple dozen different ways, but they all ended with me sounding like a weak little girl who needed protecting. Like big bad Peter was getting the best of me. I didn't want her to think that I couldn't fight my own battles - I could.

That was the problem - I needed to know what to do when fighting my way out wasn't an option. I knew that no matter how I explained it to her, she would either disapprove entirely of the blackmail and try to talk me out of it, or get the wrong idea about all of this and think it was some weird, twisted dating ritual between the pair of us - which absolutely was not the kind of impression I wanted to give her.

So I stayed like that for what felt like hours, but in reality was probably half an hour at most, and played out the possible conversations in my head. None of them ended very well, but it was the best that I had to work with to keep my anxiety at bay. The room fell silent in two waves, the first being that the water stopped, and then a few minutes later, the music followed suit. Eventually she reappeared from down the hall in clean, fresh clothes, though she hadn't gone for the slouchy stay in bed all day approach that I had. It looked more like she was planning to go out again, which wouldn't surprise me, but it made my heart sink - here I thought I'd get to spend some time with her. She laughed quietly, I could only assume at the fact that I looked back up to the ceiling and scowled after glancing her way to acknowledge her presence, and sat on the arm of the sofa by my feet.

With her hair wet and out of her face and a new shirt that didn't have a collar, I noticed that she had a hickey just under her jaw, and smirked at her. That warranted another light blush from my best friend, who smiled and looked away. I could only hope that it came from Will - I couldn't handle the idea of the pair of them fighting like they always did when she chose to flirt with a stranger. There was already enough bad in my life, I didn't need my friends arguing and making everyone around them miserable in the mix as well.

"You'll never guess what happened last night," She hummed, positively glowing with happiness and I couldn't help but feel a little more upbeat, too. She had a way of making her emotions contagious, or at least, of making you want to feel as happy as she did. I grinned, and some of the tension in my gut receded. The question was rhetorical, I knew, but she didn't even give me time to come up with a clever retort before she grabbed my ankle to give it a slight squeeze, shaking it eagerly in the process. "Will kissed me!"

On instinct I gasped as though this prospect was entirely unheard of - like I hadn't known for months that this had to eventually happen. Maybe a little of it was genuine, but not surprise so much as relief; I shifted and sat upright so she could sit next to me. It may have been sheer procrastination, or maybe the desire to hear something _good_ for a change, but I was glad to talk about her. It was better than the alternative.

"What? How did that happen?" I was absolutely thrilled to hear that they were moving forward, it was about damn time. Even I couldn't stop myself from adding on a quip, though, grinning at her devilishly. "I'm guessing that's where you were last night," She had the decency to blush and look away, but nodded all the same.

"Well, I mean, we were just sort of walking together after you and Al pulled a disappearing act on us," At that she raised her brows, and looked at me with suspicion, but I shrugged and shook my head - I was interested to know about that, now, too, but it would have to wait -, so she kept talking, "And you know we normally stop right on the street before our apartment, and he goes his way and we go ours? Well, I dunno, he just kinda leaned down and kissed me and..holy shit, Tris. He's such a good kisser.." She blurted without an ounce of shame, so I blushed for her.

"So you back to his place and..?" I trailed off, my face burning. This wasn't the type of subject we normally talked about - she was kind enough to spare me the details in the few cases that had ended with her in someone's bed, but I felt it was my duty to let her talk this time. I couldn't be a blushing mess forever when it came to the topic of sex. I needed to be able to talk about this - what would happen if I ever found the person I felt strongly enough with to do those sorts of things? I didn't want to be ignorant about it. She bit her lip and shrugged, I could tell she was trying to pick her words carefully.

"Well, yeah I mean we didn't _do_ anything- don't look at me like that, we didn't! We just sat on his couch and talked, like normal, and it was so nice. He held my hands, and we kissed here and there, but mostly it was just talking and I swear I planned to come home, but we fell asleep like that."

Even I had to admit the scene she painted was a sweet one - I was a little envious, but not enough to let it wipe the wide smile off of my face as I finally asked her the question I'd been itching to, ever since they started really flirting. "So are you officially together now, or what?"

She ducked her face into her hands and giggled -it was a nervous, happy sound that made me feel a little optimistic about my own problems- before nodding vigorously. "Yeah! We're actually going on our first real date tonight," My stomach dropped. The look on my face must have alarmed her, because her smile wavered a little, and her brows knitted together in concern. As much as I wanted to run away from my issues, I knew I needed to talk to her about them before they drove me insane.

"I almost forgot! You seemed like you were upset in your text earlier and last night..you said you got into a _fight_ with Peter, like an actual physical fight? What's going on, Tris?" Shit. I'd hoped she would have forgotten about that - but her eyes were on my wrist and she didn't look like she'd be dropping this.

If this wasn't the best opportunity to present the problem at hand to her, I didn't know what was. I tore my eyes from her face, then, staring at my hands in my lap; my nails were bitten down to the beds and the bruises Peter left me were still fairly dark. I couldn't do it. I couldn't get the words out. When her darker hand covered mine I flinched, and looked up at her; all the giddiness from before was gone, replaced with deep set worry for me. I felt guilty for taking the attention away from her good night. For wiping the smile off of her face.

I couldn't lie to her, or brush it off and pretend it was nothing. Even if I wanted to, she'd know, and I needed her help anyway, if I wanted to pull this off without killing someone or going insane. With a heavy sigh, I straightened my shoulders and looked up at her, piecing the words together in my head like I'd been doing before she came in. Ultimately, I settled on starting at the beginning. She knew a little bit about how Peter had been treating me, Molly and Drew as well, but I'd kept a lot of it to myself for fear of sounding like I needed protection. Her face shifted from concern to rage more than once as I spoke, explaining how they'd spent the last few weeks making my life hell at every opportunity.

I looked away again when I got to the main point, of how Peter tricked me with the whiteboard, how I left my bag in his room, the texts, and his bribe. I could hear her gritting her teeth from beside me. The words poured from my mouth with no end in sight, and I realized, finally, how desperate I'd really been to talk to someone about all of this madness. It felt so much better to get the words out in the open, to admit that I'd been struggling alone for weeks, just because I had been too proud to ask for help. I was asking now.

By the time I finished, and was brave enough to look at her again, I didn't find pity in her expression, which was a relief. I found anger. Her mouth was puckered into a sour expression, and I was a little concerned that she might have gone and attacked Peter on my behalf right then and there. In typical Christina fashion, she blurted the first thought that came into her head, looking at me with wide eyes. I expected a lot of things, speeches about not coming to her sooner, about how I needed to report him or ignore him, but what came out of her mouth was nothing close to what I'd anticipated. I had no argument for it.

"I think you should do it. Show up looking flawless, and show that piece of shit what he'll never have," My mouth curled downwards into a frown once the shock of her words wore off a little, I didn't want Peter to see me as _flawless_ , I wanted to be seen as fearless. Unbreakable. I wanted him to leave me alone. If she noticed my discomfort, she didn't say anything about it. "Maybe Will and I could follow you guys, go to the same place - as backup. In case you need some help?"

The idea was mortifying, to not only go on my first date with someone as unpleasant as Peter Hayes, but in view of two of my best friends? Not to mention, if he saw them, it would be just one more reason for him to think that I was weak - that I needed saving. I couldn't tell her that, though, she'd take it the wrong way, and I was already guilty of not telling her my problems sooner. I could easily imagine if I said I didn't need her, she'd assume I thought I was too good to ask for assistance - I didn't want her to form that kind of opinion about me. She was just trying to help, I told myself, taking a deep breath. I don't know what possessed me to start talking again, but I diverted the topic of the date altogether.

"Apparently I drunk dialed him last night." I admitted, embarrassed, and stared into my lap again. She laughed, which made me feel a little better, but I still couldn't look at her.

"So that's where you disappeared to, I thought you'd just gotten sick or something."

"Jeez, and you didn't come looking for me?" I didn't mind that she'd left me to my own devices, from what I could remember, she wasn't in the best condition to be looking after anyone - we both probably would have ended up yelling at him over the phone at three in the morning. Maybe that would have been good, but I doubted it. I tried to think back to that point, to the call, when I'd taken it, where I'd _gone_ , but I hit the gap and frowned hard.

There was just a vast wall of nothing where memories should have been. Damn it. The fact that there was a black hole where parts of the night should have been was terrifying, it reminded me of my dreams and how they fade in and out at will, leaving me with foggy snippets. To distract myself I started talking again.. "What happened, anyway, after we started taking shots?"

"Not a whole lot, you were way more drunk than the rest of us-" I shot her a look, and she rolled her eyes, continuing in a sheepish tone, "Okay, maybe only a little more drunk than I was, but it's still rare to see you let loose. Anyway, you stormed off in a fit after the like..I dunno, fifth round? And you were gone for half an hour or so - Al got worried and went off to look for you, I would have but I was pretty messed up by that point.

Neither of you came back - but you're here so I'd say he got you home safely. Does _Al_ know you've got a big date with the devil tonight?" Al! I'd completely forgotten her saying he'd taken my home. Maybe he could tell me something about my lost memories? I wondered briefly if he heard any of my conversation with Peter, I needed a credible source to tell me what happened. The revelation was enough to make me less annoyed at the way she kept hinting that Al and I were anything but friends. I glanced at the clock and frowned - I had time to call him, but that meant I'd need to force myself to talk to someone besides Christina. I glanced back at her and shook my head firmly.

"Okay first off, none of that suggestive weirdness you're doing right now. I woke up on top of my sheets in my clothes - nothing happened. Thank God. Secondly, I need to go call Al and see if he can tell me anything..and..thirdly," I couldn't keep the sound of defeat out of my tone. I didn't want her to be right, I wanted to show up just barely passing as formal for our date - but..well, she _was_ right. It would feel good to flaunt in his face that I was capable of looking at least better than normal, that I wasn't some plain, unattractive _child_. I didn't want him to look at me like that, I definitely didn't want to run the risk of him being attracted to me, but the memory of how he talked to me in his apartment washed away my fear. I'd prove him wrong. "I'm in need of your dark services.."

"Oh you so are,"

What was I getting myself into?

"Yes, Al, for the tenth time, I'm fine - just, look. I called to ask about last night, when you came to find me," I'd hardly gotten in a word edgewise since I'd dialed his number nearly three minutes ago. He'd been convinced I had alcohol poisoning or gotten sick or something - I didn't tell him that he was right about the second one. He didn't need to know that. Al grew quiet at my words, even from my end I could almost feel how uncomfortable he was as he stammered.

"Which part..exactly?" That made me slightly uncomfortable, too. So now we were both suffering. Great.

"Uh, I mean, all of it would be nice. My memory sorta stops at the shots." That got a laugh out of him.

"Oh, well.. I mean, it was a while before we all got worried - I thought you'd gone to the bathroom or to get some fresh air so I didn't want to bother you..since you'd told me you didn't need company," He sounded slightly offended - I tried to find it within me to feel guilty but I didn't, chances were I'd have told him the same thing sober. When I didn't say anything for a few seconds, he continued, "So I guess it was probably like twenty minutes or something when Chris finally brought up you being gone and I thought..I don't know, really. I just was the most sober out of all of us so I went looking and found you out in the..er," He went quiet again, much to my frustration.

"Out in the..what?" My patience was wearing thin. He was treating me like I was made of glass, like if he didn't pick the exact right words I would crumble and shatter on the ground and it would be entirely his fault. I was having a difficult time being the nice friend I was supposed to be when all I wanted were answers.

"Well, the..the private alcove, out in the tunnels by that big river where people usually want to be..er, _alone_." He coughed and I felt my face burn - surely he hadn't found me _alone_ with someone. That would be something I knew I'd remember, wouldn't it? He seemed to realize what his words were hinting at and groaned, "I mean, not, not that you were wanting that kind of alone, just that..well, that was where you were. On the phone. I don't really think you even noticed me? I mean, you were pretty wrapped up in that call."

Was that jealousy? I could have laughed, considering blurting out how he had nothing to worry about, that it was just Peter, but I wanted him to feel worried. To feel like I was talking to other people - because I was tired of him being satisfied when I was a good girl who kept to myself. Of him talking like we were dating when we were absolutely nothing more than friends. So I didn't correct him.

"Did you catch anything about the call - what I was saying?" I didn't condone the idea of him eavesdropping on possibly private conversations, but just this once, I decided it was better if he'd heard it and could give me some information than if he were a proper gentleman who waited until it was over to barge in. This was a damn nightmare. He was silent for a long minute and I wondered if he'd been distracted by something, he'd been going for a walk when I called, maybe he found something more interesting than our conversation in his travels. I doubted that, though, it was more like he didn't want to answer me. "Earth to Al, you there?"

"Oh. Uh. Yeah. I'm here." He answered lamely, not apologizing or giving an excuse, just clearing his throat and steamrolling on, "Well..there wasn't a lot of..talking on your end - it was more like you were really focused on what the person had to say. You just kinda stood there with your eyes closed." Something about that made me wish I hadn't asked, I was sure he would have had something more useful to tell me - at least something I'd said, but apparently not, "I mean, I dunno, you seemed pretty embarrassed when I walked up, you hung up when I said your name."

"I was arguing with Peter, so that's not a surprise,"

"Oh. Well, okay..Anyway, after you hung up you were pretty quiet, you wouldn't say why, just that you wanted to go home - and you wouldn't really look at me, either. When we got back to the booth Chris and Will were gone so I figured I could at least walk you back to your apartment, and you basically crashed as soon as I got you to your room so I left. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Jesus. Al. Yes. I'm fine - thank you for helping me home last night, I've uh..I need to go, I've got a thing to go to, but..thanks for the help," Except that he hadn't really been any help at all. I had nothing to defend my drunken self with, no snippets of conversation to disprove whatever lies he would be bent on convincing me of tonight. Great.

"..Alright, I'll see you around then, yeah?"

"..Yeah, sure thing."

I slammed my phone down on my bed and groaned in frustration, storming out of my room to go deal with the next unpleasant process of the night. My makeover. I'd asked for it so of course I couldn't exactly complain when Christina sprang from her chair with a wide eager smile on her face at my arrival. She'd probably been eagerly awaiting a day like this where I willingly subjected myself to her skills, though I found myself wishing it were under different circumstances. It was easy to picture a better scenario - one where I was nervous because I didn't want to screw up, not because I was afraid the guy would publicly humiliate me - and felt sad for the hopeful girl in me that had looked forward to a real date. Peter plucked those dreams from me with his stupid blackmail. Was there anything he couldn't ruin?

"Any luck with Al?"

I groaned and leaned in her doorway with a shake of my head. He'd been absolutely _no_ help - I shouldn't have even wasted my time calling him, if I'd known the results would have been so irritating. "No, he sounded pretty jealous, though. Which is super annoying."

"Well, the boy likes you, what do you expect him to do?" I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest, which seemed to be an answer enough for her. "Alright, alright, I get it. Not your type..do you even have one? Nevermind. Not the point - this," She turned and pointed to her bed with a laugh, "Is the point! Let's get started."

"Yipee.."

There was a line of outfits on her bed waiting for me, and my eyes widened at our options. Was she serious? There were dresses here that were far fancier than anything I'd ever had grace my closet before, not a single outfit had pants but, then, this wasn't a casual date - at least, that's what Peter had said. For a moment I imagined getting dressed up, only to have him take us to a run down diner or something, to embarrass me with my unnecessarily over the top outfit, and scowled. Surely he'd want to go somewhere nice, to accost my wallet at the very least.

Christina had me try on various slips of cloth, some were shimmery, others laced and embroidered, and a couple were flat toned and simple. I liked them best, but she kept pushing them to the side in favor of others. Every time I changed in her closet and came out she whooped and twirled her finger around a few times, telling me I needed to show it off from each side for her to get a good idea of what looked the best.

I got the feeling that most of this was just her milking the opportunity to play dress up with me, but I let her enjoy it, she _was_ helping me, after all. Once we'd settled on three dresses to pick from -"We can't know for sure until I do your makeup, it'll have to wait!"- it was her turn. Christina definitely had a lot more fun with the whole ordeal than I did, pretending to be a model and strutting around her room - I found myself envying her, imagining what it would be like to walk with the kind of confidence she had. She was gorgeous, and she knew it, and she wore it like armor.

When Chris finished with me, I was shocked. I'd never worn lipstick before - it felt waxy and odd - but it stood out against my pale skin in a shocking shade of red. Apparently that was a good thing, according to her, I thought it made me look a little spooky, but after adding in blush and the other components I began to see what she meant. It was striking. Instead of the usual thin streak of eyeliner I'd come to expect, she'd drawn thick wings in black and dusted my lids with a silver powder.

Because of her handiwork, my eyes were a vibrant shade of blue, I had no recent memory of ever seeing them as bright as they were then. If I weren't so bad at it, she might have convinced me then and there to start wearing makeup more often. My features were softened by concealer, and my cheeks were painted with a soft red that, for once, wasn't from shame or anger, which was a nice change of pace. Looking at myself through the mirror was easy with all of the work Christina had done to me - it was like peering through a window, into a stranger's face. I didn't even cringe at the reflective surface as I stared openly. She'd given me a mask, a strong one that made me feel more confident than I expected. She'd given me a little piece of her armor.

Apparently we'd made some kind of a silent agreement that black was my color, because I was covered in it with varying accents of silver. My hair was pulled back and braided loosely with a black ribbon threaded through the knots. The necklace that rested on my collarbone was a mixture of black and silver stones that looked like rain in stasis, it complimented the flock of birds I had tattooed there. Everything she'd done paired together well - thankfully my ears weren't pierced, so I didn't have to deal with her making me try on various sets the way I'd seen her do for herself on several occasions.

With the makeup out of the way, we were back in her room, where she'd had me try on all three dresses again. The first had been bright red like the lipstick she'd chosen, and I'd barely stepped out of the closet before she was shaking her head and sending me in with a lacy green one. That had been a relief. She had me twirl a few more times before I changed again, into our last option. I hadn't wanted it to be this one, but something told me from the start that it would be the outfit she chose. It was just like her to pick the one that I dreaded the most.

The choice in question was a silky black dress that stopped just an inch above my knees - I'd wanted something a little longer, but she'd insisted it was perfect - and it flowed with my movement. I was grateful that she'd spared me wearing any heels, we both knew it would end with me breaking my neck or humiliating myself. So, instead, she had me in a pair of soft black leather flats with open toes, and I felt safer for that, even if it meant that Peter would still have the height advantage. Thinking about that reminded me of the dream, though, so I tried not to.

When I mentioned my discomfort at having so much skin exposed, Christina was kind enough to give me a pair of black nylons. They felt weird against my flesh, but it was better than nothing. It would, at the very least, give me something to keep wiping my sweaty palms on. Now that I was fully dressed and ready for my horrible night, I felt embarrassed and wary. Surely I'd tried a little too hard - Peter was going to think I'd done all this to look good for him, when in reality I'd done it to prove I was capable of looking nice - and that he couldn't have me. Which, now that I thought about it, was a ridiculous notion - he didn't _want_ me, nor I him, and that was just the way I wanted to keep things.

I was tempted to go grab a towel from the bathroom and drag away the features of a stranger that Christina had painted on my face. I didn't, though, instead I balled my hands into fists at my side and went to the living room. Christina needed to get her own makeup ready - I'd almost forgotten that she had a date, too. It was impossible not to feel at least a little bit jealous that she was experiencing the real thing, with someone she cared about, while I was expected to sit out the night with my worst enemy in clothes that left me exposed and incapable of truly defending myself. I'd lost my armor on the night I was expected to go into battle and that was terrifying. I couldn't wear my confidence the way Chris did. I was defenseless.

At first I tried sitting and reading a book, but after going over the same paragraph seven times, I threw it against the wall in defeat, feeling bad as soon as it flopped to the floor. The book did nothing to deserve my anger. After scooping it up and ensuring I hadn't broken the spine of it, I put the victim of my rage back on its shelf and began to pace. The clock seemed to be laughing at me from across the room - taunting me, ticking away at the inevitability of it all. In twenty minutes I'd be faced with Peter.

Eighteen.

I sat down again, only to get back up and continue pacing after a few seconds of knee bouncing.

Fourteen.

Chris came into the room and smiled at me, looking radiant - she wore a soft black and white dress that hugged her curves and made her look more like a woman than I could ever have hoped to. Next to her I felt like a kid again. She stepped up and hugged me close, careful not to get her makeup on me or vice-versa, before taking my chin in her hands and forcing me to look her in the eye; her natural height difference was made even worse by the fact that she wore heels. I was truly beginning to hate being overshadowed.

"You're gonna be fine, okay? Will heard Peter making reservations at this place downtown - we'll be there before you, we'll keep an eye out." That didn't make me feel better. I scowled and shook my head out of her grip, leaning back slightly.

"I'll be alright - I can take care of myself, just enjoy your date." She beamed at me and left. It wasn't until she was gone that I realized I hadn't even asked her where we'd be going. My anxiety was back tenfold now that I was entirely alone in the house. I still had ten minutes, I could go call Peter, cancel our twisted sham of a date. Almost a dozen times I paced towards the hall, planning to grab my phone and make the call. I never made it to my door before the stubborn side of me turned back around. I wasn't going to let him win and, besides, Christina had worked really hard to dress me up. It would be some kind of an insult to her if I threw all that down the drain because I was _afraid._ I was halfway to my room for the tenth time, telling myself she'd forgive me and that I wasn't being weak, when I heard a knock at our front door and nearly jumped out of my skin.

Shit.

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Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for your continued support and feedback!


	6. Habromania

Man I've been dying to do this chapter since I first came up with this whole story, so here it is~ I hope you enjoy it!

Big shoutout to the lovely folks who've been leaving me so many nice reviews, you're wonderful and make me want to keep writing forever. :)

Habromania

(n) delusion of happiness

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The clock read 5:25 - Peter was early. I was beginning to panic. I still had five minutes of freedom, he couldn't be early! With a deep breath, I forced myself to stop pacing the floor, closing my eyes as I held the breath in for a few heartbeats before releasing it. _I am strong_ , I told myself, I wouldn't let something so small as a date with a guy like him terrify me. No. I would terrify him. I set my shoulders with a newfound determination and stormed back to the living area of our apartment. I had this, I could do it. He knocked again in the time it took me to make it to the door.

My fingers found the handle, only shaking a little, and I wished I'd wiped the sweat from my palms before because it was a lot more difficult to open than I'd expected it to be. Finally I found purchase and jerked the door open, nearly hitting myself with it in the process, to find him standing on the other side with his arm extended as though he intended to knock again.

All the air whooshed out of me at once at the sight before me. Both of us were silent in that moment, his eyes were round and my mouth was set into a firm line. It was a relief to see that he had dressed up for the occasion as well, so at least he hadn't been lying about that part of the night. It wasn't much, but it was something.

To my surprise, he was wearing an honest to goodness suit, in varying shades of black and gray. The coat was a lighter shade - as was his tie and pants, so that they seemed to melt together into the soft material that had a faint shine to it in the light - and beneath that was a pitch black dress shirt, which matched the color of his shoes.

The only variation in color for his outfit was the green of his eyes and the bright silver clips on each of his wrists. He'd combed his hair, but it was still a mess of curls, I was almost sure that he'd gelled it, but couldn't be certain. Even when he'd done nothing to it his hair gleamed, regardless of any source of light, not necessarily in a dirty, greasy way; more like..an oil slick, or a crow's feather.

He looked good. I hated it.

We still hadn't spoken yet, which was particularly surprising for him, and the silence became uncomfortable as it stretched on between us, seemingly endless. I'd never in my life wanted him to open his mouth, but now I would have been glad for him to say something. _Anything_.

I was still standing in the doorway with it wide open, and he was still in the hall, staring. His arm had dropped back to his side, so that both of his hands were tucked into his pockets, while he stood ever so slightly stooped. Peter cleared his throat, and I tried to ignore the way his eyes were scanning me from head to toe. Why wouldn't he just say something already?

In the back of my mind, I knew he was absolutely not admiring me or my outfit; he was structurally searching for weaknesses to exploit, insecurities to poke at. His gaze halted at my collar bone, where the three birds flew, and I realized that this might have possibly been the first time he'd seen them. Standing like that, being gawked at by him, made that whole plan of Christina's feel even more ridiculous than it had previously.

I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, which seemed to snap him out of his daze, because his mouth turned up at the corners into a smile that was frustratingly less unpleasant than usual. That was more dangerous than any sneer he could have shot me, but I wouldn't let him lull me into a false sense of security. There was no way I could accept that he was happy with our evening being about my discomfort, or making me spend money on him. No, he had a bigger plan. I knew it.

"Well, who knew you could clean up so well, Beatrice? I'm impressed, though that's probably more Christina's hard work than yours. I'll have to thank her, you look good."

I frowned, the word _Stiff_ came unbidden to me, and I found myself thinking that he should have called me that instead, but I couldn't say as to why. My name sounded wrong on his lips - like an insult instead of a title. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms over my chest defiantly, refusing to smile and pretend he'd just complimented me, when in reality his words were anything but kind.

"It's _Tris_ , and..thanks, I guess." After a pause I relented, partly because he seemed to be waiting for me to reciprocate the "kindness", but moreso because I was sure that once I did it would make things move along a little faster, "You don't strike me as a suit guy. It..you look nice." It was as friendly as I could manage, but the words felt wrong all the same. I should have said _handsome_ or _okay_ , nice was not a word to describe the man in front of me. No, he didn't look nice. He looked dangerous.

He smiled then, holding his arm out as though to escort me - when I didn't take his offer, he rolled his eyes and stepped out of my doorway. I quickly locked my apartment behind me, and followed him out of the hall and towards the small parking area out front of our building. In the space that was always empty, reserved for our apartment, was a sleek black car; it was one of the nicer ones with solar panels on the roof, and I found myself hating him for owning it.

Christina and I just walked everywhere, mostly because we lived close to everything we needed, but that wasn't the point. It was just another thing about Peter that accentuated how very different he was from me, another divide that allowed for me to dislike him. I felt a brief wave of guilt for thinking that way, but a glance at his face, and the memory of his smug cruelty was enough to erase that feeling.

Probably because I didn't take his arm, Peter didn't open my door for me, or help me into the car, which I was grateful for. It was difficult to maneuver myself into the vehicle in a dress, but I managed to do it without embarrassing myself, to find that the interior was soft and smelled distinctly like him; like his cologne and cigarettes, and vaguely like leather, too.

It surprised me that I recognized those scents as his specifically, that even without knowing it was his vehicle, I probably could have associated them with him, but more than that, I was shocked to find that I didn't dislike it - which only served to make me want to hate it more.

"So," I said, buckling up and trying not to think of it as strapping myself down for a painful procedure, "Where are we going, anyway?" He was still smiling, not looking at me as he started up the car and put it into gear. Not when he glanced over his shoulder, and put his hand on the headrest of my seat to back out of our parking lot. Not when his fingers brushed against the shell of my ear before retreating to the steering wheel. He made it a point, almost, to not answer me. The prick.

Once we were on the road, heading away from my apartment, he finally looked over, and I wished he hadn't. With the dim windows and the way the sun was already hiding behind taller buildings nearby, I could have almost forgotten that this was Peter I was sitting next to, and if I did that, I would be in danger of letting myself admit that I found some of his features attractive. I couldn't allow for that to happen, so I stared at the road instead.

"You're taking me to this nice restaurant in the legal district - pretty ritzy, it's called Sky View." I scowled, and settled as far into my seat as the safety harness would allow, not responding at first; the fact that I'd never heard of the place was just another sign of our differences. When I realized that my first real look at the place I would end up living, where I'd go to the academy and maybe even work in one day, would be with Peter of all people, I felt robbed. Frustrated.

He filled the silence with his voice, just like I had expected him to from the start. "So, I'm amazed you haven't asked about our little chat last night," I glared up at the roof of the car and prayed for us to crash and burn right then and there. We didn't. The road was smooth and the traffic was light. I'd have to endure his torture after all.

"Fine. Let's talk about it."

"Alright" He gushed immediately, "let's see. So, I wake up to you, of all people, calling me and think, yeah okay you're finally coming to terms with how great I am, obviously this is a confession of love or lust or-Oh fine, you're no fun at all, did you know that?"

I shot a sour look in his direction, waiting for him to continue; I think he expected me to laugh at his sarcasm, but that was difficult to do when it was entirely reliant on me being the punchline. After a few moments of silence, he rolled his eyes and looked back to the road, smiling all the while. I was already regretting the decision to discuss this - Peter was nothing more than a liar, of course he wouldn't tell me what I said.

"Anyway. You were pretty pissed, shocker, I know. I almost hung up because, honestly, what do I have to gain from being yelled at by the likes of you at that hour of the morning, or any time, for that matter? But since I'm such a _nice_ guy," I scoffed at that, which earned me a pointed look, clearly he was annoyed by all of my interruptions. Good.

"I let you complain about me _to_ me for a good ten minutes before you started losing steam- which was worth it in the end, because somewhere in your big, angry rant, you actually complimented me."

"I _complimented_ you?" That was impossible to believe - there wasn't anything to compliment him on, so of course I wouldn't have. He was just messing with me. I glared across the vehicle at him, suddenly wary, why hadn't I been given the impeccable lie detector ability Al and Christina had? So far what he'd said matched up with what I'd have done sober, if I'd been angry enough, let alone drunk, but something about the look on his face was worrisome. He seemed amused.

Peter wasn't the kind of person to just laugh off insults, or to chuckle like he currently was doing when someone defied him. So what had I said, what could I have possibly thought was nice enough about my blackmailer to say was enough to make him smirk instead of inciting rage in him? I'd seen first hand what he was like when he felt insulted - this wasn't it, so whatever I'd said must have been bad.

"Yeah I don't fully remember it all, I was pretty tired, but it was something like "you can take your shitty attitude and your pretty eyes and get lost, you creep" which, harsh, I know, but you _did_ say my eyes are pretty," As the words left his mouth he turned to stare at me, and I wanted to punch the satisfied look off of his face. His eyes were absolutely not pretty. Not one bit.

"Don't look at me like that, I wouldn't lie about such a nice comment.." He hesitated for a moment and I could practically hear my last name on his lips, but finished weakly with, "Tris," like he was trying it out. The syllables sounded strange in his voice, but it was a nice change. I could feel the blood rising to my face.

"I wouldn't say that - your eyes aren't pretty at all - they're cold, and squinty, and mean. I hate the color, it's like..mold or something." I probably should have felt guilty for being so rude and childish, but I didn't. He needed someone to pop a hole in that massive ego of his, and I was glad to do it so long as he continued teasing and harassing me.

"That's not what you said on the phone. Last night you said they were gorgeous - _deep_ , even - and that you really liked the color. I think you and your drunken self need to have a discussion, because one of you is lying." He narrowed his eyes at me and I looked away, I didn't want to look into them _or_ at him right then.

His lie made me feel sick - there was no possible way I'd said something like that, was there? His words were filled with amusement as he added in a hushed tone, "You know what they say about drunken words being sober thoughts," I wanted to hit him, but he was driving, so I settled for glaring out the window to show I wasn't at all interested in continuing this discussion.

My face was hot compared to the cool glass of the window and I was almost positive it was entirely from anger. There was no way I he'd embarrassed me, that would mean that I believed him. "Moving on," He hummed, like it was his idea; I had a knot in my stomach by that point, but I opted to ignore it, watching the buildings zipping by out of my window instead.

"Okay, uh. Let's see. Did you know you like to curse when you're drunk? Specifically at me. It's hilarious - you're surprisingly good at it. You said you couldn't wait to kick my ass in training, which, I mean, that's not going to happen but it's a nice thought." That caught my attention. I jerked my head back in his direction with a look I could only hope was confident, and even managed a small smile.

"I will,"

"You will, what?" He looked confused, his brows furrowed together, and glanced my way for a few heartbeats. It was like he didn't think that I might actually believe that I could beat him, that it was only something I'd say drunkenly. How could he know that I practically fantasized about besting him in front of everyone?

"Beat you, in training I mean. Just because you're bigger doesn't mean you're better." He snorted, I was sure the idea of losing to me wasn't even something he'd imagined in his wildest dreams. I'd considered it ever since learning that men and women were scored and trained equally, side by side, during Sergeant Coulter's speech.

I'd been hoping for an opportunity to prove to Peter, and myself, that I wasn't just some weakling who couldn't defend herself - especially after the way I'd been overpowered in their apartment. I was eager to see the look on his face when I knocked him to the mat for the first time, when I finally beat him. For a brief moment I was reminded of my dream, of the pain in my ribs and head, but I tried to shake it off. Peter's voice made for a decent anchor, so I forced myself to focus on what he was saying.

"We'll see about that. You also made it a point to tell me you aren't a child - I guess I hurt your feelings the other night after all." I frowned into my lap, silently cursing myself. I didn't need him to know that he touched a sensitive spot with those insults, I wanted him to think I was unshakable. Guess that was ruined. Even if he never got another ounce of dirt on my weaknesses, he'd at the very least always have that.

"No, you didn't. I'm just not a fan of being belittled by someone as immature as you. It's laughable that a person who steals things and forces someone to go on dates with them could call anyone a child," I snapped, feeling my blood boil. I'd done so well, not getting angry with him, this entire trip, but now I was experiencing our fight in the hall all over again and I wanted to hit him like I had before. "Moving on. What else?"

When he didn't respond, I finally pulled my gaze up to see what stupid expression he would be shooting my way this time, only to find that he was staring straight ahead, lost in thought. Was there more bad news for me? From what I'd gathered, we'd talked for half an hour, so I could only assume there was more to the conversation than what he'd said, that little bit of communication could hardly have been fifteen minutes, let alone thirty.

"So, what else?" It looked like I shocked him, or snapped him out of whatever stupor he was in because suddenly he jumped and turned his head in my direction. I was surprised by the look on his face, if it were anyone else I might have said he was embarrassed, but this was Peter. I wasn't entirely sure he was capable of experiencing shame or anything close to self-consciousness, so it had to be something else.

I fought the urge to bite my lip, not wanting to get lipstick on my teeth, and fixed him with a challenging stare. For once, Peter was the one to break eye contact, clearing his throat as he stared out at the road ahead. He was acting strange, more so than usual, what could possibly be so bad that he was hesitant to talk about it? It occurred to me, then, that I'd somehow shifted from assuming he was lying to believing him.

"Nothing, really. I mean, I complained about how I'd been having a nice dream and you woke me up to yell at me, but then your big idiot friend Al picked up the phone and told me to leave you alone. He's pretty rude, even hung up on me." There was something familiar in his tone, almost like when I'd talked to Al earlier today. Almost like..jealousy, but that couldn't be right. What did he have to be jealous of?

Wait.

"I'm sorry, did you say..Al took my phone and talked to you?" That couldn't be right - he'd told me that _I_ had been the one to end the call, that he hadn't even known who was on the line. I wasn't sure who to believe anymore, because Peter had sounded genuinely annoyed, and he looked it at the moment, too.

"Yeah, I did. The guy's a major prick, and that's me talking. Who just butts into a conversation like that? _Tris isn't in the state of mind to be talking to you_ , I mean, what the fuck is that?" It was hard not to smile at how much this seemed to bother Peter - which, normally I would have questioned, but I was pretty pissed about the whole ordeal myself.

What benefit did it serve for him to lie to me about how Al came into the equation? If what he said was true, it was more believable that I'd been lied to by the hulking soft hearted blonde, it would be better for him to not admit he'd decided who I could and couldn't talk to into his hands. The vehicle slowed and Peter looked away from me, suddenly focused on driving again.

"..I'm gonna need to have a nice long talk with him, from the sound of things. I mean, he's right, I should definitely not have been talking to you, or anyone for that matter, while I was that drunk, but it's not his place to decide that." Before Peter could muster up any sort of reply, we rolled to a stop outside of one of the redesigned buildings in the city. I'd been so distracted by our conversation that I'd barely made time to take in our surroundings - I'd missed my first good look at the legal district!

The skyscraper before us was almost all windows, illuminated with soft yellow light closer to the top to give it a halo. Peter seemed more relaxed than he had been before I'd asked about the rest of the call, which only raised my suspicions. He was definitely avoiding telling me something and he'd used Al to misdirect me. I was sure he realized that I was about to question him some more, because he seemed suddenly very jumpy as he unclasped his seat-belt and opened his door.

"Let's go, then, before we lose our table." That only served to deepen my frown, I didn't trust him one bit, but got out of the vehicle all the same. A guy my age in a blue coat was standing near where we'd parked by the curb, all smiles, as he held his hand out to Peter, who immediately passed over the keys to his car. The man shifted over to a small pedestal, and returned with a slip that Peter then tucked into his pocket. The entire affair was really odd. I glanced over my shoulder to watch the retreat of my ride home, feeling a small ball of panic beginning to grow in my gut. I was trapped, now.

The warmth of a hand on my lower back caused me to tense, and snap my head around to glare at Peter before taking a few steps forward, so that his hand fell away entirely. "Rule number one for this - you don't touch me without my permission." I wanted that to sound harsher, but the words rang with a tone of desperation that shamed me. I sounded anxious rather than authoritative.

"Jeeze, okay, okay." Peter held his hands up in a mock surrender and rolled his eyes, nodding towards the entrance of the building rather than guiding me with his hand as he'd originally planned to. We walked in silence, I considered the notion that I might have offended him, but made no move to apologize. I was in the right to demand the right to my own personal space, damn it.

We got into the lobby without making eye contact once. It was a quiet place that sent prickles of discomfort up the bare skin of my arms; I could hear each infuriating click of Peter's heels all the way to the elevator which, thankfully, was functioning. I had a sneaking suspicion that things in this district worked a lot better than they did in the small blocks of city reserved for college and collegiate housing.

Peter's finger pressed down on a silver, circular button that almost immediately was illuminated with a blue ring of light before stepping back beside me again. "You look like you're being escorted to your execution, Prior. Relax, would you?" That was easier said than done when I was being led by Peter into a small box with no immediate escape. I could feel my heart racing, and considered taking the stairs, but that was impossible in my current outfit, so I reluctantly joined him when the doors opened. It wasn't like this could be any worse than being confined in a cramped car with him, right? Except now he wasn't distracted by keeping us alive.

Peter stood with his hands in his pockets, I could feel his eyes on me, boring holes in my flesh. So I forced myself to look his way, to meet whatever cocky face he'd be pulling, only to watch him immediately glance to the side, as though he didn't want me to know he'd been looking. Odd. The silence between us was suffocating and, for the second time in the history of ever, I wanted him to talk, just to fill the void. He didn't - so I did. My voice bounced off of the stainless steel walls around us in a way that made me flinch.

"So why are we doing this, Peter? I'm sure you'd have a much better time with Molly here than you will arguing with me all night, that can't possibly be worth whatever stupid torture I'm supposed to be going through." The corner of his mouth turned upwards into a smile. Not a smirk, a genuine smile. That made me nervous, so I glanced away and stared at the scrubbed metal that wasn't quite clear enough to reflect our images back at us.

"I mean, you could get a free meal and annoy me in the cafeteria just as easily as this place. Seems like a lot of work just to get on my nerves," He chuckled quietly, causing me to frown as I peeked at him from the corner of my eye - as far as I could tell he hadn't looked at me since I'd caught him earlier - it felt like he was intentionally not paying attention to me.

"You ever consider that I genuinely am interested in your company?"

"No."

"..it was worth a shot." Peter sighed, I could just see him shake his head in my peripheral, but I wasn't going to be the one to look over first. If he was staring straight ahead, I'd do exactly the same. Besides, that just meant I didn't have to see the smug, self assured expression he was bound to have on his stupid face. The rest of the elevator ride was spent in silence.

My breath caught in my throat as the elevator doors opened to reveal our destination with a soft _ding_. We'd reached the highest level of the building - the rooftop itself. It had tables that were enclosed in a large glass dome for the biggest portion of the building, while the other part allowed you to look right out over the city with the only barrier being a railing. The wind was stronger topside, and colder, but the glass dome blocked the worst of it, making it bearable.

The view was beautiful, and for moment I allowed myself to forget where I was and who I was with. I could feel a wide smile pulling at the corners of my lips, but I couldn't make myself reign it in. The lighting was low, provided by strings of small bulbs that only added to the atmosphere; everything was either steel or a dark wood. I would have been lying if I said I wasn't at least a little bit impressed.

We stopped in front of a smiling woman in a similar blue to the man who'd taken Peter's car earlier, she stood behind a pedestal with a book, which was inclined away so that I was unable to see what was written on it. Names, most likely."Hayes," Peter said smoothly, like he came to places like this all the time, and her eyes drifted downward, trailing over lines of writing before a few moments before they look at either of us again. She continued to hold that smile that was polite but on the side of forced and waved a waiter in blue over to us.

He smiled, too, as he pushed his glasses back up his nose; he was tall and confident, two traits I had begun to grow to hate in just about anyone."Good evening, your table is right this way." Even his voice was calm, collected and soothing.

Peter mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, just loud enough for me to hear it over the wind, "Can I touch you?" To say I was shocked, both by the question and the weird genuine tone of his voice, would have been an understatement. I hadn't expected him to swallow his pride and ask my permission, to give me any kind of power. Biting my tongue, I nodded, not trusting my voice out here.

In a matter of moments his fingers were splayed out against my lower back and I tried not to enjoy how warm his hand was. I was, admittedly, chilled - the season was still just on the side of too cold to be eating in a place like this - so his touch felt like fire, and I found myself leaning into him without meaning to. It seemed to surprise both of us, I felt him tense, but we walked forward without mentioning it all the same.

Peter's side was warm against mine and I pretended that I wasn't even phased, despite the fact that my heart was pounding. It was to do with the heights and the cold and adrenaline, I told myself feebly, but I'd never been a particularly good liar. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Christina and Will sitting at one of the tables under the dome - they smiled at me, and I grimaced in return. They looked happy.

He noticed them shortly after I did, rolling his eyes, "Small world, huh?" He sounded vaguely annoyed, but didn't say anything else on the matter. I'd expected a plethora of taunts about needing babysitters and how I couldn't handle doing anything on my own. Instead I was met with pensive silence. He just continued to act stranger and stranger, it seemed. I was beginning to think that..maybe I'd had him pegged wrong. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

The waiter stopped in front of one of the tables, right by the railing, and I felt my heart soar. I was seeing more of the city than I could remember ever having seen before - except..well, there was a twinge of familiarity to the view that I couldn't quite place, but it filled me with adrenaline. It was beautiful. I glanced over my shoulder when I felt a chill where Peter's hand had been moments before, only to see that he had pulled my chair out for me; I gave him a pointed look. He didn't strike me as a gentleman.

"Stop looking at me like I'm going to throw you from the roof already, Prior. I wouldn't do anything that stupid - especially not here. I have a future, I don't plan to spend it behind bars," He sounded offended, and I had a hard time celebrating that fact. I found myself wishing that I'd worn a jacket once I was finally seated and no longer moving around.

I sat ramrod, ignoring the fact that my teeth were chattering and my muscles were wracked with spasms of shivers; it was impossible to hide the little bumps all over my bare arms, however. I opted to bury my face in the menu to avoid looking at Peter, I didn't want to see his satisfaction at my discomfort.

Peter's menu lifted as well, and I found myself a little disappointed despite knowing he wasn't the type of person to care about my well-being. A small part of me had been hoping for..something. I was going crazy. "So, how do you like this place?" He asked, making me look up from the list of foods I was struggling to pick from. Everything sounded extravagant - I'd never been very adventurous where food was concerned - and I had no idea what I would have liked. The prices weren't as bad as I'd been expecting, but I knew without adding it up that this would be the most I'd ever spent on one dinner.

"It's.." I paused, looking back over the city - from this height I could see the expanse of the bog, the moonlight was slowly seeping in and filling in the gaps so that, if I squinted, I might have seen its former glory, "It's gorgeous up here - I'm impressed," That made him smile. The pull at his lips was another of the soft cornered ones, untainted by cruelty or laughter at my expense, and it made my stomach flip without my permission. I wished he wouldn't do that, it made me want to like him.

When the waiter returned to ask about drinks, Peter ordered a bottle of wine, and I raised my brows, but if he noticed my disapproval, he didn't mention it. I'd never tried wine, but I wasn't entirely sure it was the best idea to drink again so soon after last night - I'd only just gotten rid of the headache from that affair..

Our waiter didn't ask me about my preference, so I kept quiet. My curiosity outweighed my wariness. As I resumed staring down at the menu, I heard the sound of chair legs scraping the floor, but I was preoccupied with trying to make a decision based on food I'd never tried, so I paid it no mind. So, of course, he caught me off guard and, I jerked my head up when I was suddenly cloaked in a soft, warm material that turned out to be the jacket of his suit.

I watched him silently walk back over to his seat where he sat gracefully, now wearing just his silvery tie and the black dress shirt. The jacket smelled like his cologne, and was silky on the inside; reluctantly I tucked my arms into its sleeves to escape the harsh wind and its chill. I had to roll the material up a few inches just to free my hands up for eating - I'd have to be very careful not to drag his nice jacket through my plate of food, now. "..Thank you,"

"Don't mention it, what fun would this be if I let you freeze to death? And I'm glad you like it, I thought you might." It felt like I was sitting across from a stranger wearing Peter's skin; he would never have cared, even if my lips were turning blue before, and since when did he consider things I would like?

Wasn't this supposed to be about what _he_ liked and my discomfort? I kept trying to remind myself of who I was dealing with, that as soon as he'd lulled me into a false sense of comfort he'd strike, and I'd be weak against the attack. I needed to keep my guard up, but it was getting harder and harder to accomplish that feat with every one of those stupid, soft smiles of his.

He leaned forward and flattened the menu I'd been hiding behind, pointing to a couple of things on it. It felt like he knew I was overwhelmed, he likely did, I was sure that my inexperience was written all over my face. "That salad is good, it's got some steak in it - and the steak itself is pretty great, too." I wanted to understand his angle, to see cruelty behind the lie he was painting so prettily, because it was difficult for me to be rude at the best of times, let alone when he was being so civil.

I swallowed my pride, just a little, and smiled at him, mumbling my thanks again, for lack of something better to say. I had no witty retort, no banter, just a mounting level of insecurity. I felt stupid for not even knowing what food to order, but he didn't hold that over my head. Maybe he was just saving all of these little moments of weakness to throw in my face later. My stomach twisted at the thought.

When our waiter made his second return, Peter ordered the steak, so I did, too. The more I thought it over, the less I was sure I'd ever even had steak before. Searching for childhood memories, even something small like meals, made my head hurt, like something was pushing me back, so I stopped trying and sighed in defeat. Maybe I wasn't quite over that hangover after all.

The smell of Peter was surrounding me and I was having a hard time convincing myself that I didn't like it. _It's just the cologne_ , I told myself firmly, _not Peter_ , but I'm not entirely sure how true that was. I was treading dangerous waters.

"So..um," I paused, not sure if I wanted to admit that I was completely at a loss. What would Peter do with the knowledge that I'd never been on a date before? Maybe I should have stopped there and not told him, but I had no idea what came next; what was expected of me. It was all a mystery. Ignoring him seemed like a good route, but he was being nice, so I figured I was supposed to do the same. I didn't want him to revert back to his unpleasant nature, after all, and be stuck with that for the entire evening.

He was watching me silently, waiting for me to finish my thought, which was just another oddity that I was unaccustomed to. "..What do we do, now?" Since I couldn't bite my lips, or my nails, I settled for chewing on the inside of my cheek, and watched his face register what I'd just said. It seemed to take him a minute to understand the implication of my words.

He raised his brows as realization dawned on him, seeming genuinely surprised, and rubbed at his chin while laughing in a way that could almost be described as nervous. Except that I'd never seen or heard him nervous before. Did he not know about dates, either? I doubted that very seriously. So why did my lack of knowledge make him uncomfortable?

"Have you really never been on a date before?" I shook my head and shifted uncomfortably, trying to figure out which Peter I was about to see; the rude, sarcastic one that lived to see me suffer, or the Peter who had crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, and wrapped me in his jacket just to shield me from the cold? I could already hear him teasing me, even if his face was still thoughtful. There was no way he'd pass up ribbing me about this.

"You should try the wine," He finally spoke up, his voice quiet, and I thought, just maybe, he looked a little guilty. Oh. I didn't know what to do with that information, so I chose to ignore it, and picked up the glass in front of me. It was a fragile looking thing, made tall with a round base and an area to rest my fingers around a narrow stem, ending in a thin bowl filled with a nearly clear liquid. It smelled sour and fruity, and I wasn't sure I'd like it, but it was worth a shot.

Watching Peter, I noticed right away that he didn't take large sips like you might with whiskey or beer, instead he tentatively tipped it back and drained a small amount. I mimicked him, finding the first taste incredibly bitter, it almost turned me away, but the aftertaste softened the flavor. The trickle of liquid warmed as it eased down my throat and into my stomach. It was much more pleasant than the foul things I'd drank with Will and the others, and by the second sip I was starting to like it.

"So, you've been on a lot of dates, then?" I asked, trying to sound withdrawn, but it hit me, suddenly, that I was a novice next to him. I didn't like knowing next to nothing about something someone else was so informed on - particularly Peter - and yet I've surrounded myself with a place full of firsts for me. How did I let that happen? And why did the idea of Peter sitting across from possibly multiple other people, right where we were now, bother me so much? I didn't look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me; it was a sensation I'd grown used to over the past few weeks.

"Yeah, I've been on a few - but not with anyone with enough brains for it to count, until now," I raised my head quickly, wondering if that was a compliment for my sake, or just an insult to his past endeavors. He was smiling that weird, friendly smile again, and I felt myself return it without meaning to. I needed to figure a way out of this, Peter Hayes was breaking down my walls, sound the alarms!

"So, when you're not arguing with me in class, what do you do for fun? I mean, I've seen you in the Pit a few times, but you don't seem like a partier." For a moment I watched him, trying to pick up on any sign that he was making fun of me, but only found genuine curiosity in his face. I took another sip from the glass, stalling for time. The shift in topic had thrown me off.

"I like to run..and read," I admitted, suddenly uncertain about what exactly I did for fun - the real answer was nothing - college had been such a centrifugal part of my life for so long now that I wasn't entirely sure I even knew how to really _have_ fun. The closest to that would have been the times I was dragged into public with Christina, to go to a club or a bar, but I enjoyed hiding in our apartments watching movies a lot more.

In truth I was very boring, it appeared. He seemed to be waiting for me to say more, but I shrugged and stared at the table in front of me, hiding my hands under it so he wouldn't be able to see how they were balled into fists to keep from shaking. How dare he make me feel self conscious just because I studied too hard to do much more than read a book or take a jog?

"You're an anomaly, Tris," He said my name with ease, that time, and I managed to look up without feeling the knot in my stomach. It wasn't a compliment, but it wasn't an insult, either. "I mean you've got this whole angry, tough girl persona going on, and I can't seem to get past it. What's under all that grit and rage?" Did he think I was being short with him, not being honest about myself, just to look tough? I frowned and sat a little straighter, jutting my chin out defiantly. I forgot who I was dealing with for a second. If he wanted to know these things, it was likely to hurt me.

"Well, I'm sorry I don't torture people I don't even know for kicks, or date idiots just to give me something to do. Reading is nice, Running is _fun_ \- I like it, and it doesn't hurt anyone." That seemed to shut him up, he lifted his glass and avoided my eyes. Thankfully our food showed up right then, over-encumbering our smiling waiter, and giving us a valid excuse to not talk to one another.

The hunk of meat before me was well portioned compared to the massive one on Peter's plate; I'd ordered a petite, which I was grateful for as I begin to cut the tender meat. There was no way I could have eaten more than that. The whole process was difficult to do without getting the sleeves of my borrowed jacket dirty, but I managed, somehow.

During this whole process there was a lingering silence between us, only broken by the sound of metal against ceramic, which was setting my teeth on edge. If I'd learned anything since he'd come into my life, it was that there was nothing so dangerous as silence where Peter was concerned. I was holding my breath.

"We can't all be all perfect and _pure_ like you," His tone was jarringly cold - I'd almost let myself forget he could sound like that - and any kindness he'd been showing me before was long gone. I must have struck a chord, which should have made me feel victorious, but the knowledge only served to twist my stomach into knots. I glanced down at my plate as I mumbled under my breath that I wasn't any of those things. For some reason, I decided to peer up at him from beneath my lashes, checking to see what kind of emotion I would find. I expected anger, but was met with confusion, instead.

His head was tilted slightly and his brows were furrowed - there was a frown right where it'd been when I had broken eye contact before. "What was that?" I scowled, no longer cowering, and looked him dead in the eye - it was jarring to see the green in them, brought out by the fairy lights above us, if I looked close enough I could just see a light ring of gold around his pupils. Suddenly it was hard to say, even to myself, that they' weren't gorgeous. Shit. I was in trouble.

"I _said_ ," I gritted my teeth, speaking up for him, "I'm not perfect," He scoffed and took a large bite of his steak, choosing that moment to tear his eyes from mine in favor of staring at the table instead. This was Peter, the guy who blackmailed me into being there, who had made the last three weeks of my life a living hell. So why did I feel bad, suddenly?

I finally remembered my own steak, taking a much smaller bite than he had, and for a moment I was distracted by the flavor alone. It melted on my tongue and was almost overwhelming in its seasoning, but in the best possible sense - the little chunk of meat may possibly have been the best thing I'd ever tasted. How had I missed out on something like this before now?

I glanced at Peter, then, tempted to thank him for the recommendation. He wasn't watching me, like I'd grown used to him doing. He was eating methodically with his gaze still lowered, it was a habit I recognized easily, I'd looked like that many times, I imagined, since Peter and co. started teasing me and I'd just wanted to get my meal out of the way, eager to be done and to move on. Why was this such a big deal to him, to the unshakable force that had been my tormentor for the last few weeks?

I'm not even sure why I did it, but I leaned forward then and put my hand over his, stopping his fork from digging into another chunk of meat. That got his attention. Peter glanced up at me with his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth puckered into a look that fell somewhere between mistrust and confusion. Once I had his focus again, I pulled my hand back, the lingering tingle of warmth that his skin left on mine made me uncomfortable.

"Why did you want to do this, Peter?"

"You keep asking me that." It wasn't an answer, but it was all he said for a few moments, sounding like a sulky child. I forced myself to eat a few more bites of my steak, not wanting it to get cold, and watched him warily, "I dunno, maybe it was the only way to see who you are, without the distraction of school and..Molly and Drew - just..an even playing field or something. You're right that I don't know you."

He wasn't apologizing for what he'd done, which was annoying, but I wouldn't have believed him if he'd said sorry, anyway. That just wasn't him. A tiny voice whispered to me eagerly; _he just wants to get to know you._ But I couldn't believe that so easily. Why would he pick now to decide I was a human being with feelings? Someone to talk to, rather than attack?

"..That makes sense. I'm sure you're regretting that decision, now," That garnered a chuckle from him, and I chose that moment to get a chill from the wine, or the wind, or both, as a shiver ran up my spine and made me flinch.

"Mm. No, not really."

"Oh." I nodded, pretending to understand him, and focused on my food. I found myself wishing I could catch Christina or Will's eye from my seat, but there was a wide panel separating us from the inside tables - I was sure it was meant to create a sense of privacy, or god forbid, intimacy. The conversation continued tentatively from there. I learned that Peter enjoyed music, a lot, that he didn't care about many people or things, but was very passionate about the few that he did, and he had a little sister.

He learned that I was being honest in my love for running and reading, and that I have a brother that I don't talk to, not out of anger, but because it wasn't convenient for him. It felt weird to tell him about Caleb. It made me nervous to give him information he could use against me. Neither of us talked about anything too terribly deep, we didn't give one another any kind of weapon to bring up later. It was..surprisingly nice, just talking like that without the hostility. He didn't even accuse me of being in love with him once.

Christina and Will were still seated at their table, just on the edge of the indoor area when we got up to leave. They were laughing, and holding hands over the table; I didn't catch their attention, thankfully, and smiled to myself despite the small twinge of jealousy I felt at their untainted night. Peter looked in their direction and scoffed, but refused to tell me why when I asked. He simply shrugged and muttered something about predictability under his breath.

He was possibly the most confusing human I'd ever met.

Admittedly, the wine had gone to my head a little, though I hadn't realized it until I'd stood up earlier, and when Peter made a joke at the expense of a poor woman and her ridiculous wig, I actually laughed, which surprised the both of us as we stepped into the elevator. His hand was on my back again, guiding me, and I found that I didn't mind him not asking me first. The ride down was mostly silent, he didn't move his hand from my back and I didn't ask him to.

When we stepped outside, his car was already there and running, ready to take us home, I was still wrapped tightly in his suit jacket and he hadn't made any move to take it from me. There was this comfortable, almost friendly silence between us now. It wasn't charged with awkwardness of discomfort or the need to fill it with useless banter.

"Are you okay to drive..?" I turned to him with wide eyes, worried he might have been as lightheaded as I was, but he seemed fine. No - fine was a bad word to use. Steady. Once again, I was reminded of the drawbacks that come with my size, I hadn't expected to get tipsy off the sour liquid, especially since we'd had so little of it, but it had been easy to drink when I needed something to wash my steak down. I was certain I'd regret the choice of beverage tomorrow, but right then it felt lovely. Everything was warm and just on the side of spinny.

"I'm fine, don't worry about me." Peter opened the door for me, now holding my arm by the elbow gently, as I eased into a sitting position. It didn't even strike me as odd that he helped me this time. I, somehow, managed to fold my legs into the vehicle without hurting myself or ruining the nice outfit Christina had worked so hard to get me into.

Peter leaned into my side of the car before I could even try to buckle up, gently dragging the belt over my torso until he was hovering over me entirely, and I heard a soft click. He stayed there, above me, for a few heartbeats, and I was fully aware that I wasn't breathing, but he was, and his breath fanned my face. It smelled like dinner mints. Something in me that felt silly and giddy imagined that he was going to kiss me, which sent tingles down my spine. Weird.

Instead, he pulled back, and left me to gulp in a fresh breath of air as he closed my door on his way out. I couldn't fathom why I felt disappointed by that. I snuggled down into his jacket for warmth, suddenly aware of how cold the car was now, that I didn't have Peter in my personal space distracting me. Without meaning to I took a deep breath with my nose pressed into the silky fabric of his jacket and my senses were overloaded with the scent that was so absolutely Peter - either his smell, or the alcohol, made me dizzy. I took another deep breath.

When his door opened abruptly, and brought with it a swift gust of cold air, I was startled, and turned to look at him like I'd been caught in the act of some crime. He grinned at me and raised his brows, and it was absolutely unfair how someone so mean could be so cute. Maybe Al had been right. Maybe Peter, alcohol, and myself didn't mix - or..maybe we did. That was an even more terrifying notion.

"You okay there, lush?" I tried to scowl at him, but my huff turned into a laugh and I was vaguely aware of thinking that this was nice. I felt light and fuzzy and was suddenly unsure of why I had been so anxious, so unwilling to go on this date with him. I'd had fun, right? There had been a reason, but I couldn't for the life of me grasp it.

"I am just peachy, yep." I hummed with another bubble of laughter as I leaned back in his seat and breathed in deeply, this time not into his jacket..mostly because he was watching me. "It smells really good in here," The words tumbled out of me, but I felt no real inclination to grasp them back.

It seemed strange, to not speak my mind, so I opted for honesty. Peter chuckled, either at me or at the whole bizarre situation, I wasn't sure, but I did know one thing: I liked that sound. It was this deep, throaty noise that had a little bit of gravel to it - the kind of sound that covered my arms with goose flesh. It reminded me of something, but I wasn't sure what. I grinned at him for lack of a better response.

"Do that again," I demanded, and he blinked at me owlishly, so I leaned over and poked his chest, still staring up at him. "Laugh." So he did, a little louder than before, I smiled at him and broke into a fit of giggles. I poked at his torso gently, right where I knew there was a cluster of freckles and peeked up at him. "Again." This time he sighed, until I prodded at his hip and he laughed reflexively, pulling back from my jabs.

He was looking at me funny, not like he was laughing at me, it was more like he'd never seen me before. That was a weird way to look at someone, but I didn't mind so much because his eyelids were heavy and his pupils were flared out, and I liked those things on him.

For a long moment we just alternated between me grinning at him, and his resulting laughter cracking me up, without an explanation, before he looked away from me. It seemed like he suddenly remembered something, and whatever it was took his smile away. I didn't like that. He shifted the car into drive and I ducked further into his jacket, humming to myself. I wished he would look at me again - his eyes really were pretty, even in the dim light.

"I told you I like drunk you better," Peter murmured after..some point of time, I couldn't honestly tell you how long. If I didn't know better than to think him capable of it, I might have said he sounded sad. But that was impossible.

* * *

Alright! So, for the first time in ever, we get a placid, decent Peter being all gentlemanly. I love it. I'm going to try very hard to make sure my next chapter is up on time but I'm going on vacation in a few days so I might be just a little bit behind - but I'll have a short retelling of the phone conversation (yes, you'll absolutely get to know what exactly went down that night) to go along with it just in case, I've almost finished both of them.

As always, I'd love to hear what you think about everything so far. Is Peter genuinely being a good guy, or does he have another cruel trick up his sleeve? We'll see what's around the corner in (hopefully) a week's time! Thank you for reading and sticking with me guys!


	7. Drapetomania

Okay first off I am /so/ sorry that this took so long. Ran into some bad scheduling and had absolutely no time to work on this before I had to go back to work, so unfortunately I don't have the finished conversation oneshot done, but I will by next Tuesday, on my honor.

So, thank you all for being so patient - enjoy the new chapter!

Drapetomania

(n) an overwhelming urge to run away

* * *

The ride home was mostly a blur to me, I'm not even sure that we talked, really. I even dozed off a few times, but Peter didn't seem to mind. He played music on the radio and it was nice - there were no lyrics, just instruments, but I really liked it. I thought of telling him so, but I was comfortable and warm, so I closed my eyes and listened to it instead.

The next time I opened them, I had no idea how much time had passed, but Peter's hand was on my shoulder, giving me a gentle shake, and he was saying my name softly. I blinked a few times and smiled at him - I'm not sure why. If I remembered right, he wasn't very nice, I shouldn't have done that, but he smiled back so that was okay.

"You look like you could use a cup of coffee.." He seemed uncomfortable, maybe even a little nervous, so I sat up straighter and tried to focus. It was difficult to do, I wanted so badly to give in to the light, silly feeling buzzing in my head. I bit my cheek, thinking about what he said - it seemed pretty late for coffee, that was an odd thing to offer me when all I wanted to do was sleep.

He snapped his fingers next to my face suddenly, and I leaned away from the noise; the fuzziness cleared a bit as I forced myself to focus on his face, and then our surroundings. We were parked in the campus lot and, now that I thought about it, I had no idea when we'd even stopped driving. That scared me. "Tris - did you hear me?"

"I..uh, yeah. Coffee. I don't..I'm not really in the mood." He must have turned the air on because it was cold now, even with the suit jacket. I found myself grateful for the chill, it helped to clear my head. The fog from my nap, as well as the alcohol, was still there, but I was able to concentrate a little easier.

"I think maybe I should just go home." He bit down on his lower lip and frowned, looking at me in this weird, pleading way that didn't fit right with his features. He had a face made for gloating and sarcasm, not begging.

"Are you sure? I'd feel better if you were a little more alert before I dropped you off, we could swing by my place for a cup and then I could take you home." Alarm bells started going off in my head, triggering my natural distrust in Peter and all that he stood for. What was he planning, now? Why was he suddenly so concerned about this? Why not when I'd nearly tripped over my own feet on the way to the car earlier?

"If I need coffee, I can just make it at my apartment," I was suddenly sure I didn't want to go home with him, what if "coffee" wasn't actually coffee at all? Did he really think I was that kind of person? Peter gave me one last look of desperation, but I simply shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest, staying defiant.

He set his jaw and I saw a muscle clench from the side, clearly that wasn't what he wanted to hear, which meant I must have been doing something right. My dizziness faded a little when I focused on the ball of anger resting in my gut, on my suspicion and discomfort. He didn't look mad, oddly enough; afraid, maybe, but that didn't seem right. I'd never seen him afraid before.

"Please take me home, Peter.." I muttered quietly, feeling the powerlessness in knowing that he controlled our destination ultimately, especially since I was in no state to go walking by myself. I thought of texting Christina for help, but remembered with a groan that I'd left my cell phone resting on my pillow. I'd been so surprised by Peter knocking on the door that I hadn't gone back to get it! Shit.

He pulled out of the student lot silently, his mouth still set into a hard frown. As I began to recognize street names, and saw that we were actually heading for my apartment, I let out a breath I hadn't even been aware I'd been holding and leaned my head back against the seat. Crisis averted.

The cold air made me wish I had a blanket, but he didn't make any move to turn it off, even when my teeth started to chatter. I stubbornly chose not to ask him to, burrowing deeper into his jacket. The ride from campus to the complex I lived in was short, only ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity with the tense quiet that had built up between us. He must have turned the radio off before trying to wake me, along with turning on the air, because there was no comforting backdrop of a melody to focus on.

I started five or ten different conversations with him in my head, but my mouth stayed firmly shut, not letting any words escape. Eventually I reached forward, intending to turn the air conditioner off myself, when his hand shot out and surprised me by swatting my fingers away.

I sat up straighter and glared at him through the darkness. His face was only dimly illuminated by the lights across the dash, but I'd somehow managed to memorize every rise and fall and lash so that I could fill in the blanks. I hated that.

"Leave it.." He mumbled without looking from the road, I couldn't quite tell what was going on in his head. I wanted to fight with him, to complain about being cold and wanting to turn it off before he made me sick, but I couldn't find it within me to.

Part of me was bothered by the realization that nothing had changed. Tomorrow we would resume business as usual and go right back to butting heads after this. It had been fun, but we couldn't change who we were. It was infuriating to accept that I was genuinely upset by that thought.

When we finally parked, I stayed unmoving for a moment, trying to clear my head enough to unbuckle my seat belt. I didn't even notice that Peter had gotten out of the car until my door opened, and the slightly warmer air outside rushed in to greet me.

I peered up at him, then, and found that he still looked uneasy as he reached forward, and helped me out of the vehicle. He didn't hover over me like he'd done back at the restaurant, and I wasn't entirely sure whether I felt relieved or disappointed by that. I managed to unbuckle myself after two fumbles, which he didn't laugh at.

I decided, as we stumbled forward, that I was incredibly lucky to have a ground floor apartment - and by that logic, so was Peter - because we wouldn't need to struggle our way up any steps, which would have been an absolute nightmare.

The housing unit I lived in was the type with two buildings that ran side by side with an enclosed hall down the middle so that my neighbor's door was only a few inches to the right across the hall from mine. Normally, the walkway wasn't even something I glanced at twice on my way in from class or studying, but this wasn't a normal situation.

At the moment, that hall was dark and threatening, and I wasn't as bothered as I normally would have been when Peter's hand found my hip, leading me forward. I racked my brain for answers, trying to figure out when exactly I'd begun to associate his presence with safety rather than danger, but came up short, so I let it drop.

I had bigger things to deal with, like how the world was only just slowing down for me, and the warm buzz I'd had was going strong. I was home, I'd be inside and safe in a few minutes, so what if I let him touch me for a change? Who was going to see it?

Even as I began fishing in the small purse Christina lent me for my keys, walking slowly, neither of us had spoken. It wasn't a comfortable silence. The bulbs overhead flicked on almost as soon as we entered the hall, alerted by our movement, and we were washed in a greenish, pale light that did nothing to remove the ominous feeling from the air.

It made Peter's features look far more severe than they had before. My hand grasped the keys tight enough that the sharp edges dug into my skin painfully; I was nervous. Why was I nervous?

He swallowed hard, and started to step away from me as I leaned my back against the front door for support. I didn't know why I said it, but the words tumbled out without my permission. That seemed to be happening more and more frequently.

"Thank you..for tonight," His shoulders tensed, and he slowly turned back to face me again; that look was still there, boring into my soul. Like he was suffering, asking me for something without words, but we weren't on the same frequency at all.

Why was I thanking him? Didn't he bribe me into doing this in the first place? The logical part of me was screaming, telling me to shut up. Unfortunately, whatever idiot side of me decided to talk in the first place continued without my permission.

"I had..fun - I didn't expect to, but I did." The words felt weird..wrong, though I knew I meant them and, while he was certainly no angel, I was finding it hard to think of him as wholly awful now. Maybe that was the alcohol talking, it was a good thing to blame for the unexplainable.

He took a few cautious steps back to my door, and rested a hand on each of my biceps; I was sure I'd heard him grit his teeth, then. He looked like he wanted to talk, to say something important - maybe I should have heard him out, that would have been the logical thing to do.

Without meaning to, I found myself leaning up - that was definitely _not_ hearing Peter out, I realized, but I was beyond the point where logic overcame stupidity, apparently. Somehow this was the best option to me, or to that part of me that always ended up getting me intro trouble.

I told myself sternly that it didn't have to mean anything if I kissed him. I could still hate him come tomorrow, no one was there to see it, I could deny it. Deny him. It seemed that drunk me was easily coerced, as I found myself believing that bit of sound logic. My head was fuzzy, and his lips looked soft, so why shouldn't I have taken that risk?

Who knew, maybe it would have been nice? Maybe I would have enjoyed it.

I'd never kissed anyone before, so wasn't it about time? Peter was looking at me strangely, like he'd swallowed something that tasted bad, but I didn't let myself try to think about that. If I did, I'd convince myself I was being an idiot and I'd stop.

I took a deep breath and rose to my tip toes - he wasn't doing me any favors by leaning down to help gap the distance, but that didn't discourage me - and Peter's fingers were suddenly digging into my arm, far too tight. It hurt.

That should have been a dead giveaway. How could I have been so stupid?

When he still didn't shift or lean down to gap the distance, my hand found the soft material of his tie and I pulled him forward myself, trying to be gentle despite my lack of coordination. He grunted in what I could only assume was surprise, eyes widening.

That must have been the last shove he needed, because without my assistance, he dipped his face closer to mine. I could feel our breaths mingling, but our lips didn't touch yet. My heart decided to take up residency in my throat.

I was left staring into his eyes, and up close there was no denying that they were stunning - that _he_ was stunning. There was electricity in my veins and I was having a very hard time breathing, all of a sudden. I should have stopped then. Instead, I closed my eyes and tipped my chin up, not quite able to brush our lips, but hopefully he'd be merciful and meet me in the middle.

Except that he didn't. I waited - one heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

My heart was in my throat. What was he waiting for? I was about to open my eyes, or pull him into me, I'm not entirely sure which, when I heard laughter, and saw a bright flash from beneath my eyelids. It felt like something cold and sharp had slithered down my throat and made my stomach its home, slicing me open on its journey. My skin prickled with unease.

I knew that laugh. It squeaked too loudly, bouncing off the bricks in the walkway and assaulting me on all sides. My eyes shot open as my stomach twisted into knots, suddenly I wanted nothing more than to run away, to hide and never come out again.

I'd played right into their hands.

Peter chuckled, then, and it may have been my imagination, but it sounded a little forced. Or..maybe that was what I wanted to hear. I took a cautious step back, only to feel my back pressed firm against the cold metal of my door, and looked at him. _Really_ looked at him, as my blood turned to ice.

His shoulders were slumped, and it looked like he still had that bad taste in his mouth. Good - I hope this tasted like poison to him. Panic was bubbling in my chest as the gravity of the situation hit me - I forgot myself just long enough to fall into a trap.

Molly rounded one corner of the hall, and I spotted Drew out of the corner of my eye. He was standing behind Peter with a camera in hand - when our eyes met he let out a low whistle that made my blood boil. How had I let them sneak up on me like that?

"This is one for the scrapbook, Peter!" Drew cackled in that same, irritatingly high pitched way he always did, while Molly was dangerously silent, she was looking at me like I'd done something wrong. Like I'd been the one to hurt _them_. I wished I had been, then there wouldn't be a gaping hole growing in my chest, making me feel sick.

I didn't think, didn't give myself time to consider my options, or experience the emotions threatening to spill over inside of me. On one hand, at least I was slightly more sober now, I could be thankful for that.

In one fell swoop I released Peter's tie and shoved my hands hard into his chest - he let my arms go without any struggle what so ever, stumbling a few steps back and colliding with Drew. The pair of them made varying noises of surprise and Molly bristled.

The smell of his cologne was swimming in my head, but it was no longer pleasant, he was no longer safe. He never was. I glared at him, my face hot, and felt my fingers tingling - with rage or panic I had no way of knowing. I almost kissed him. I almost kissed _Peter_ of all people

He was smiling, but it wasn't quite right - part of me wanted to believe he felt bad, that he didn't want to do this to me. I thought back to his offer of coffee, and how desperate he was not to take me home. Was he trying to back out of this plan?

No. It was more likely that he was trying to stall so his friends could set up before we got back..or worse, maybe he'd planned something more embarrassing if I'd actually gone home with him. I had never hated Peter more than I had in that moment.

I shook my head, trying to push away those kinds of thoughts, and scowled even harder. I yanked his suit jacket from my shoulders and threw it to the ground without hesitation - he didn't even flinch, just stared at me. I wouldn't make excuses for this sorry prick, I wouldn't. I knew what kind of person he was from the beginning and I _still_ let him soften me up with false kindness and wine.

I should have known better. Peter wasn't to blame - I was. My eyes were burning and I felt like I might have started crying, but I refused to, not in front of those people. All I could think was that I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt them all, to make them feel as bad as I did. So I did, or tried to, at least.

I drew my fist back, this time I didn't hesitate to punch him directly in the face as hard as I could; his nose made a satisfying _crunch_ as a jolt of white hot pain shot through my bones, but I welcomed it. The pain was a distraction from the growing void, from the shame that was slowly burning me alive. Peter yelled as his hands flew to his face and blood poured through the gaps between his fingers. Good.

He didn't defend himself like the last time we fought as I lunged for another strike, this time landing a hard punch to the hands that covered his nose. The cry of pain that escaped him made me feel at least a little bit better.

I didn't have a lot of time to enjoy it before the left side of my head began to ring and I felt a twinge of agony in my ear. Between the throbbing in my ear and the fact that I was falling, I had no idea what was up and what was down. The world went sideways and a fresh wave of pain shot up my temple as the momentum of the punch left my head bouncing against my front door.

I saw stars, and collapsed against it, turning slowly, too slowly. I wanted to raise my hands, to block my face, but I was pretty sure I was going to be sick, and the ground wouldn't stop spinning long enough for me to get my footing.

I heard Molly let out a violet yell and thought in a fuzzy part of my mind that she'd been the one to hit me. Drew wouldn't have, he was a coward. My world was slanted - I couldn't defend myself, there was no way. I could barely stand. Her fist collided with my stomach and knocked the breath from me.

Knowing I couldn't do anything about that strike, let alone the next that I knew she'd be throwing my way, I collapsed against the door behind me and waited with closed eyes, wheezing for breath. It hurt too much to try and open them. The impending connection of her fist on my flesh never came, and her next cry of anger was cut short.

Curious, I forced myself to squint my eyes open - despite the starburst of pain that flared up when I did - to see that Peter was holding Molly's wrist tight, staring her down with an expression that terrified me.

His mouth and chin were covered in blood, and a bruise was already forming across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes. I found myself hoping it hurt, hoping his nose didn't heal right if I managed to break it. Hoping I broke it.

His blood was smeared over her arm and his hand, painting them both, and I chose to look at that instead of their faces. When he spoke his voice was sharp, and cold. I thought I'd heard the coldest he could be the first time I punched him and refused to apologize, but I was so wrong.

"That's enough, Molly. We're _even_." There was pain in her eyes and I wasn't sure if it was from the way he said the words, or the grip he had on her arm, but I didn't care. He could break her wrist for all I cared, and her heart, too.

I considered attacking them, then, of flinging myself at the pair like a furious, wounded animal, but I knew I didn't stand a chance. I didn't want to risk Peter deciding to hurt me. Deciding we were no longer even.

"Get away from my house." I was surprised by how calm I sounded, but my voice still slurred, trembling slightly with emotion, and I hated hearing it. Before I spoke the pair of them had been staring one another down, but both of their heads snapped in my direction then; Molly, with rage in her eyes, and Peter with..I couldn't tell you, I didn't meet his gaze.

Instead, I stared at the blood oozing down his chin and painting his mouth red - his lips didn't look soft anymore. Maybe they never really did. I spoke again, my voice shaking with rage. "Get away from _me._ "

"Tris I-"

"Don't you dare talk to me, Peter. Don't. You keep my name out of your mouth and _go_." I wanted to feel satisfaction at the way his face dropped, but I just felt sick. Used. He did all that to make a spectacle out of me, and it worked. I wouldn't let him trick me into thinking he cared, this was just another joke he was playing. I wouldn't be the punchline.

I didn't pause to see if they were still standing there, I could hear Molly's heavy footsteps -stomps, really- receding, and I could only assume everyone else followed suit. I dropped my keys, and cursed loudly, ducking down to get them. My head was pounding by now. It took three tries before I managed to get my key in the lock, but when I did, I jerked the door open and immediately slammed it shut behind me.

With the wall as a barrier between myself and the outside world I allowed myself to crumble - I was almost positive Christina wouldn't be home until the next day, so there was nothing to worry about as far as being heard. With the freedom of solitude, the dam broke, and tears rolled down my face in a flood, choking me. I wasn't crying for Peter - for his betrayal - I was crying for my own stupidity.

For my weakness.

I was crying out of rage. Out of pain. For letting myself believe that this could have been anything but an opportunity to get revenge. I was crying because, rather than showing him that I was strong, unbreakable, I showed him that I was just a silly girl who could easily be manipulated. I showed him he could hurt me.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, sobbing, with my head on my knees, but at some point I fell asleep.

* * *

I was climbing rusted rungs of the dilapidated ferris wheel's maintenance ladder, near the abandoned sector of the city, when I became aware of myself. The sun was nowhere to be seen, and I felt harsh wind whipping at me, yanking on my hair and clothes. There was someone below me, I thought, but I couldn't be sure. It didn't matter - the climb did.

I just kept moving higher. I didn't have time to think about why I was doing this, about how I got there, my mouth was set into a firm line and I was breathing heavily out of my nose. This was important - not reckless. I could hear a whisper of logic telling me I needed to get to a vantage point.

 _I have to find their flag._

The thought surfaced, surprising me with its familiarity, at the exact moment a metal rung broke beneath my boot. My suspicions of there being another person below were confirmed when I felt someone steady me, and my heart was in my throat. Their hand was warm on my hip. I moved again and ignored my racing heart - it had little to do with fear and much to do with my adrenaline.

I was buzzing with excitement, I knew I should have been terrified, but I felt alive as the cold filtered into my fingers and numbed them one by one. The climb continued for longer than I could keep time with - I was struck with the realization that the majority of this dream wasn't clouded with fog - I could see out across the barren part of the city, to the drained lake and its puddles. It took my breath away and I felt a chill up my spine.

Finally, after what felt like ages, I'd finally climbed high enough and spotted a bright square of color off in the distance. I pointed it out to my blurry companion, who seemed fairly proud of me. That sent a tingle of excitement up my spine. With the knowledge of the enemy flag at our disposal, we began our slow descent back down.

One minute I was fine, moving easily downwards, and the next I was dangling from a bar, who even knew how many feet off the ground. I felt the first twinges of panic in my gut and twisted around, searching for help. That only served to make me feel sick - any time I tried to focus on the person behind me, the world flipped upside down or turned on its side so that I couldn't focus.

Time didn't make sense, nor did the buzzing noise I thought might have been wind coming from below, ready to pluck me from the ferris wheel and deliver me to the ground. I could almost hear a voice telling me to hold on, but that was likely my imagination.

If my fingers weren't aching, and my life weren't in danger, I might have enjoyed the clarity of the view in front of me, made even more impressive without the bars of the wheel in the way, but instead, I was met with the realization that I would probably die right then and there.

That made me more sad than it did afraid, for some reason. I sucked in a breath and tightened my grip, determined to fight for my last minutes, to stretch them out until I couldn't hold on any longer. My elbows were locked and screaming in agony.

I looked down, feeling my fingers starting to slip, but, to my surprise the ground was getting closer. The wheel had begun to _move_ with me still swinging from it, and suddenly the ground was rushing toward me all at once.

I allowed myself to feel hope, and counted to three before preparing to jump. I knew that I had to time it just right, so that I didn't break anything, or get crushed by one of the cars on the outdated ride. I gritted my teeth when the time was right and launched forward, my pulse pounding in my ears.

* * *

I awoke in a panic, imagining the giant wheel was still bearing down on me, but when my eyes opened, I was resting with my back against my front door. There was a weak light filtering in through our kitchen window; I was nowhere near the abandoned sector of the city. I was safe.

At first I wasn't sure what woke me, other than maybe my own fear, but I was grateful for it all the same. My back and legs were tingling and sore from sitting in the same position all night on the hard tile. It took me longer than I'd care to admit to understand what I was doing sitting in the doorway - why I'd fallen asleep there, of all places, in a dress - but when the fog of sleep wore off I was smacked full in the chest with memories of my humiliation.

Before I could come to terms with the painful realization, I felt the door shake behind me and heard a grunt of frustration. Christina. I was still blocking the entrance to our apartment - oops. At least I had a good idea of what woke me up. I managed to push myself to my feet, yelping softly at the wave of pain that surged through my limbs, at the sharp bolts of agony that pulsed along my scalp.

I wasn't given any time to collect myself before the door flew opened and smacked against the wall, narrowly missing me in the process. I was greeted by the sight of Christina in one of Will's overlarge sweaters, weighted down with groceries and looking triumphant against her battle with the door.

She was practically glowing with a wide grin on her face, but the moment her eyes drifted from the door to me, her smile vanished and she dropped the bags hanging from her arms to the floor unceremoniously. Without hesitation, leaving the door wide open, she rushed towards me with a horrified expression on her face.

It struck me then that I must have looked really bad, bad enough to warrant the way she was staring. I didn't like the look she was giving me, it made my stomach twist in a painful way, and my cheeks burn with shame. It made me feel small, and pathetic; I could almost hear Drew's laugh again in that moment, too high of a pitch and bouncing off the bricks, assaulting me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I was able to notice - primarily by choosing to stare at the floor rather than meet my friend's gaze - that my overnight bag was nestled among the scattered groceries she'd abandoned. It felt like I'd been sucker punched, like it was insulting me just by being there.

"Holy shit, Tris!" She cried out softly, and I had to agree with her when fresh pain jolted through my temple and down my jaw. Holy shit was appropriate. I felt slightly dizzy, but I'd managed to stay on my feet that long, so it couldn't have been that bad, right? "What the hell happened to you?"

She gently cupped my face in her hands, turning it from one side to the other - I never thought such a small motion could hurt so much, but my hands instinctively scrunched into fists as I tried not to cry out. Pain shot up my right hand almost as soon as I balled it up, so I unformed that fist as quickly as possible. I'd have to check that out later.

I felt like crying again, but swallowed the urge and closed my eyes instead, focusing on anything pleasant I could grasp. Her hands were cold against my face - soothing the burn of shame and injury alike - it was a small beacon of comfort in a sea of agony.

She was naturally perceptive, as usual, and released my face to grab my dominant hand, hissing through her teeth. That caught my attention, enough to make me open my eyes again, and I glanced in the direction of my aching hand with knitted brows. Well. At least I had a good explanation for the throbbing in my knuckles.

They were an angry red, and deep bruises were already blooming. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction, looking at the damage. There was dried blood smeared on my skin, and I wasn't sure whether it was mine or Peter's. I had the sincere hope that his nose was broken.

Peter.

My chest felt like it might have caved in. Not because I cared about him, which I didn't, but because he had gained all of the leverage he'd ever need to break me down into pieces until there was nothing left. He'd gotten everything I didn't want him to have. The memories of laughter - of Molly's fist, of Peter's little game - were still fresh and raw, yet I kept picking at them.

I didn't mean to sob, but the noise escaped me all the same. Christina threw her arms around me, and I buried my face in her shoulder; the tears came without my permission. We stood like that for a while, until my tears were gone and I had nothing in me but weak hiccups and heavy breathing. She didn't make me talk, in fact, she just gently guided me down the hall and sat me on the edge of the bathtub.

She couldn't have known that her hand on my back was cold, and small. That it was the exact opposite of Peter's. That I was grateful for those things. She knelt in front of me, grabbing for a little container full of damp sheets of cloth that smelled vaguely like perfume, or soap.

The whole time she worked, lightly dabbing at my face, I was a sniffling mess, but she kept murmuring soft, comforting words. Part of me hated it - I was stronger than all of this - but it was nice to remember there were people with hearts as big as Christina's was.

She helped me clean my face, scrubbing away the mask she'd given me, the one I'd ruined with my tears. When I finally looked in the mirror I was myself again - although I couldn't remember a time I had ever been that sickly looking. My eyes were puffy and bloodshot, my nose bright red, but all of those things paled in comparison to the souvenirs that Molly had left me.

On the side she'd punched me, I had a large, purple bruise roughly the size of a fist. It ran along the side of my cheekbone and right up to the middle of my ear, staining me. When I touched it, the area was electrified with pain, and I immediately jerked away to inspect the other side. This one wasn't as bad as far as coloration, but was far more painful.

There was a knot the size of a golf ball on the side of my head, presumably from how hard I'd hit it on the door. It was peppered with bright red, and soft purple markings, letting me know the damage was far from healed.

I tore my eyes away from the mirror when Christina brought me a pair of fluffy black pants, and a baggy long sleeved sweater. She was watching me with concerned eyes as I took the clothes from her and folded them, leaving them sitting on the edge of the sink. I hated this. I hated feeling weak and defenseless and broken. I'd get Peter back for that..somehow.

"He didn't.." She couldn't say it, but she motioned to all of me, and I got the general idea of what she was hinting at. I felt my lower lip wobble and the world swam around me in an instant. I hated that I still had tears left, but shook my head firmly all the same. I couldn't have her thinking that - she'd blame herself somehow.

I hated that she thought I was weak enough to let that happen to me, but then, I'd been weak enough to let myself be trapped so why not that, too? I didn't want her to even consider that I wouldn't have killed him on the spot if he even dreamed of touching me like that, without my permission, forcibly. I didn't say that, though.

"Oh God no, Chris. No." My voice was cracked and sounded nothing like me. I hated it. Peter had stripped away my strength, made me hate myself, and I couldn't forgive that. I felt bare. "I'll..I'll tell you about it..after a shower," I offered, bending over the tub to turn on the water, my ribs protested at the tight material that was stretched across my torso and I hissed through my teeth. I'd have to be careful not to ruin her dress.

She didn't respond, but I could hear her behind me, walking back to the door of the bathroom. I bit my lip, speaking quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the rushing water, "Thank you.." I knew I shouldn't have been as shaken up as I was. Thinking on it, I should have been angry, livid, he'd only embarrassed me, after all. He hadn't hurt me, not really. He couldn't hurt me, that would have meant that I cared. Which I didn't. So why did it sting like that? I hated it.

"I'm so sorry, Tris.." Christina's voice was full of pity, and I hated that, too. One look in the mirror when the dress fell let me know that my ribs on the left side were painted with a light bruise, nothing like my face had been, but still enough to hurt.

It didn't go without notice that I had round bruises on each of my biceps in the shape of Peter's fingers, too. They'd used me as a canvas for their cruelty, and I'd be looking at the marks for days, if not a week or more.

Hot water was going to do wonders for me.

* * *

"That little scumbag!"

A little over an hour since I'd woken up had left me curled up on our sofa in clean clothes, feeling a slightly more human. Between the warm shower and Christina's presence the pain was a little more of an irritation. Everything was easier when she was involved, after all.

She'd given me some medicine for my bruises, and gotten us a makeshift breakfast from the coffee shop across the street. During my shower she'd put the groceries away, and my overnight bag was sitting on the couch, now, mocking me. I hadn't touched it.

"I can't believe we let him take you home without following-" I held my hand up and scowled at her - it still surprised me to see bruises peppered over the rough skin of my knuckles - I refused to let her accept guilt for Peter's crimes.

"No. Don't do that. I'm..fine, it's over with," I needed to distract her, to push the topic somewhere else. We'd been talking about what happened for the last fifteen minutes or so, I didn't want to keep saying his name, that only made it worse. "All he did was embarrass me, and it shook me up. That's not your fault."

"So how was _your_ date?" And those were the magic words, apparently, because her eyes lit up and she sat a little straighter. I was pretty sure that at least part of her eagerness was for my benefit, if she really knew me, she knew that I didn't like to talk about my problems, and Peter was definitely a problem.

I knew I'd just opened the floodgates, but I didn't really mind. A happy story for a change would probably do me some good. I hadn't realized it until Christina showed up earlier, but I'd been sorely deprived of contact with people who weren't sour, and rotten, and full of hate like I'd become. I needed desperately to cling to her goodness, it made the hole in my chest a tiny bit more bearable.

"It was amazing, Tris. I mean, that place was so gorgeous - I know you know that, sorry - I just..wow. It was.." She was struggling for words, and I had to laugh as she broke into giggles amid chopped sentences about how romantic the whole thing was and how no one had ever treated her the way Will had.

Apparently, even after four years, they still had a lot to talk about, new subjects to approach. I guess it would be easier to talk about things you had in common when you weren't butting heads and arguing about everything. She was just about to go into detail about dessert, and how grossly cute the both of them were, when her phone started ringing.

I felt bad for the relief that flooded through me at not having to hear about the rest of their date - I was happy for them, but it was going to take a while to erase the image of them giving one another gushy looks from across the table, and talking about their feelings.

A knot tied itself tightly in my stomach, making me feel sick. Absentmindedly I grabbed for the ice pack Christina had given me earlier, and pressed it against the lump on my head. The sensation and pressure made my scalp tingle with fresh pain, but it was duller than before. More bearable.

I tried not to listen to her conversation, but I knew it was Will -she had a special smile, reserved for him, I wasn't sure she knew that, though - so I gave up on being polite and watched her closely.

After their initial greeting her eyes widened and the smile he'd put on her face dipped back into a worried frown as she glanced at me; my stomach did an uncomfortable flip as I imagined Peter strutting in and bragging to Will about what he'd done to me. Surely he had, wasn't that the point of embarrassing me like that, to make sure everyone knew?

Come to think of it, how had he not shoved all of that in Christina's face? They had to have crossed paths for him to give my bag to her, right? He wouldn't have just left it out for the taking, he wasn't the kind of person to give anyone an inch of peace. He was too cruel for that.

Had he sent out copies of the picture Drew took by now, just to make me look bad? That seemed childish, but what he and his friends had done to me last night had been childish, too. While I'd been busy in my head, I nearly missed the entire conversation between Will and Christina, coming in as she lowered her voice and worried her lower lip between her teeth.

"I had a lot of fun, too. Look, uh, I know we're supposed to meet up for lunch today but..is there any way I can give you a rainche- Tris!" I grabbed the phone from her hands, and she looked at me like I'd slapped her across the face, grabbing for it almost immediately.

I held my hand out to her, pushing away any attempts to retrieve the device while I leaned my head away. I'd dropped my ice pack and my head was throbbing, but that wasn't important. I wouldn't be the reason she didn't spend time with Will, I didn't need to be babysat. Truthfully I was happy at the idea of getting some time to myself anyway.

"Ignore Christina - she's going, she's just being stupid."

"Tris? What's going on?" Will seemed surprised to hear my voice.

"Nothing, seriously - she thought we made plans but it turns out," I looked at her pointedly, she just rolled her eyes in response, "that I have my own plans, so she's all yours."

"Oh..are you sure?"

"One hundred percent positive." I handed the phone back without waiting for a response, and stuck my tongue out at Christina. She was pouting at me with her arms crossed over her chest, begrudgingly moving so that she could take the phone back and apologize for confusing him.

Regardless of her irritation, she quickly confirmed their plans, sighing heavily when the call ended. I was grateful that she'd given in to me, I didn't want to ruin their date just because I'd made a poor judgement call.

I didn't need her hanging around feeling sorry for me all day, anyway, what I needed was to find a proper distraction, I wasn't ready to sit down and sort through everything that had happened on my own. She stared at me silently, raising her brows, and I knew I was about to get an earful. I didn't give her time to start up the lecture I knew she was itching to throw at me.

"Seriously, Chris, just because I had a shitty night doesn't mean you're cancelling your plans." I crossed my arms over my chest, mirroring her, and shot her a stern look. If I was the reason they couldn't spend time together and be happy, Peter would win. Again. I refused to let him poison anything else in my life.

I'd sat back and watched Christina and Will's slow, irritating journey towards a relationship for a long time, and if I came between that with my problems, I'd never forgive myself. For that reason I smiled at her, even though I still felt brittle, and cold, and empty. I wasn't ready to smile yet, but I did anyway, because she needed it more than I needed to sulk.

"Tris, promise me you'll be okay, I don't mind rescheduling if you need me. I wasn't there before when those thugs were giving you such a hard time I just..don't want you to deal with all of this alone again.."

I rolled my eyes and shrugged, "I'm okay, really. I'm making this bigger than it is - I mean, seriously, all they did was laugh at me - and okay, yeah, Molly messed me up, but if I get down I'll just remember exactly what it sounded like when I punched Peter in his stupid face, okay?" That made her laugh, so I joined in, but it didn't sound very convincing.

Convinced that I wouldn't fall to pieces without her, she got up and hugged me before heading down the hall to get cleaned up and ready for her lunch. I rubbed the center of my chest and took deep breaths, telling myself that I wasn't jealous of her happiness. That wasn't fair to her. I was happy for her, happy because she was happy. It was too bad about that whole being a terrible liar thing at times like these.

What was I even jealous of, anyway? It wasn't like the idea of being in a relationship was something I'd pined over the way she had. It rarely even crossed my mind. I glanced over at my bag and almost laughed at the realization that fear raced through me - that I was scared of a sack of dirty clothes.

Oh. And my journal.

My eyes widened as I remembered why I even went on that stupid date in the first place. The dream journal! I scrambled up towards the bag, and nearly recoiled when I caught the scent of Peter - his taint had seeped into my things, and I hated it.

I could imagine he even sprayed it down with his cologne, just for a last laugh. For a moment I considered moving out of the openness of the den, but quickly remembered that my phone was in my room and decided to stay right where I was.

Cautiously I sifted through the re-purposed gym bag, ready for whatever traps or nastiness Peter had left behind as a secondary attack. It would have been just like him to do something like that - I could already imagine it would be filled with copies of Drew's picture from last night. Maybe he even kept my journal, threw my clothes out. It would serve me right for being so stupid.

Other than the soap and shampoo Christina grabbed out of the side pocket earlier, nothing seemed to be missing, in fact there was an additional item in there. I scowled at the sight of a large manila envelope addressed to me in a messy scrawl.

If he wanted to torture me with the picture, I doubted that he'd have gone through the effort of packing it in an envelope that I could easily throw away without seeing it. I could feel paper inside and decided it must have been some sort of letter. It felt thick. Two thoughts occurred to me simultaneously.

I should read it.

I should burn it.

I did neither, choosing to shove it deeper into the bag and grab my notebook instead. I would open the envelope when my wounds were less fresh. Staring down at the notebook, I felt trepidation - I didn't want to read it. I didn't want to go into my own head. Too real was the memory of Peter's fists, of sweat and blood and a sparring mat. My stomach churned just holding it, and I huffed.

Instead of reading it, I shoved the thing back in my bag and fished out my clothes. I needed a distraction - laundry was as good as any reason to not read whatever I'd jotted down in those pages. I pictured, even as I got up from the couch and headed for the front door, Peter's fingers all over its pages, his eyes hungrily drinking in my private world.

I stopped to toe on a pair of shoes and grabbed the small container of washing powder we kept in the kitchen, before heading out into the hall. My stomach did an uncomfortable sort of flip, and I wanted to go back inside almost immediately.

It was an entirely different world in the daylight - there was no eerie green lighting, no Peter standing tall and pretending to protect me - but I could see drops of dried blood just in front of our door, and a trail leaving towards the parking lot.

I'd need to clean that up.

I headed towards the small glass door down near the end of my apartment that led to a tiny room with the communal washer and dryer. It only occurred to me as I was loading the clothes in and twisting the settings to a light load, that I had no idea what I was going to do after that. I didn't want to stay in the apartment, I didn't want to go out. I didn't want to spend time with anyone and I didn't want to be alone.

Chris and Will were going to be occupied, I considered calling Al up, maybe we would catch a late lunch or watch movies in the apartment. I'd been neglecting him lately. As I walked back to the front door and pointedly looked up to avoid seeing the blood on the floor, I was reminded of a conversation I'd had with Peter the night before.

I was beyond believing him, I didn't much want to go over anything that had to do with him, but there was a burning frustration at the thought that I had no way of knowing whether Peter or Al had been honest..and what that meant if it had been Peter telling the truth.

Al and I had some talking to do. That was all the motivation I'd needed to grab up my phone and dial his number - even if I didn't need him crooning over my wounds like I knew he would, I needed to start drawing lines, this seemed as good of a time as any.

* * *

Ahah. I'm so sorry, I promise that..eventually there will be some happiness for our poor babies, but for now enjoy more agony and suffering and just..bad shit. Phew.

So, as always, your reviews and kudos are appreciated! Let me know what you think, what you'd like to see happen or even what you think might happen! I'd love to hear from all of you.


	8. Mnemonic

Mnemonic

(n) something intended to assist the memory as a verse or formula

* * *

Al said he'd need a shower before coming over, which gave me enough time to finish the washing cycle and turn my clothes over to the dryer, but not enough to change out of my pyjamas. That was the deciding factor in us staying in for the day, rather than going out for lunch. I still had food in the cabinets, so I figured if we got hungry we'd just make whatever we could find. It was a better alternative to going outside and running the risk of seeing Peter and his thugs, anyway.

Some time between loads, Christina came in and wrapped an arm around me, hugging gently. "Last chance, I can still back out," she offered, making me scowl. She looked beautiful and happy, even if worry marred her features a bit. I shook my head and smiled in what I hoped was a convincing manner.

"I'm good, seriously. Get out of my hair, and go have fun." Reluctantly she nodded and started for the front door, pausing to glance over her shoulder with one of those radiant smiles of hers that made me wish I could return it earnestly.

"I'll bring you a dessert on the way back, so don't fill up on noodles or whatever you plan on eating, okay?" She narrowed her eyes at me before breaking into a fit of laughter - once again I found myself envying her. She was light and happy, enjoying herself, and unafraid of her own flaws. It was something I didn't entirely understand.

When Al finally showed up, he didn't knock, which was about what I'd come to expect - Chris had a rule about friends not needing to if they'd already been invited over, and everyone stuck to it pretty well - so I was surprised to find him sitting in my living room as I came around the corner from my room. I'd only just tossed my overnight bag onto my bed, so it wouldn't be lurking, staring me down, plus it gave us more room to sit on the sofa.

One look at my face had the hulking brunette on his feet, taking three massive steps towards me where he hovered with wide eyes, and a slack jaw. "Jesus, Tris, what happened to you?" Already his cheeks were burning red, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. Not good.

He wasn't a particularly violent person, usually, but when he did get that way, it wasn't exactly pretty. An image of him slamming his fist into Will's face - of Will hitting a soft mat, crumpling - came to me for a flash, and I had to blink it away. Now was not the time to deal with that kind of nonsense.

"I uh. Got in a fight." He didn't look like he believed me, but I turned away and shrugged, moving to sit at the end of our couch with my knees tucked up to my chest. My ribs screamed in protest, but I ignored the burn - he didn't need to know about all the damage, Christina didn't even know about the ones on my torso - and forced a half baked smile his way.

"No big deal, it's just bruises, bet I'll look way worse after a few weeks in the academy," I offered, but that didn't seem to make him any less tense, or angry. He did comply, though, and joined me on the couch. My skin prickled with discomfort when he turned to face me and reached out, as though he planned to cup my face like Christina had earlier.

To avoid that happening, I stood up suddenly - gritting my teeth at the twinge of pain the motion brought - and walked over to our tiny entertainment center and its cheap television, sifting through the movies we'd collected over the last few years. "You hungry?"

"I could eat. How about you work on getting the movie set up, and I'll make something?" Al offered, still sounding odd, but he was trying. Like I was. He was trying to lie, trying to let my injuries roll off as easily as I seemed to be, and for that I was thankful. I'd been going over it in my head, trying to decide when - and how - would be the best way to bring up the phone conversation.

To bring up whether he'd flat out lied to me or not.

"Sure, help yourself," I got to work on hooking up the correct wires, and turning the ancient heap of junk on, before deciding on a film. I hummed absently, sifting through titles with very little interest. A lot of them were romantic, or comedic with romantic undertones, and I absolutely didn't want any of that - especially since it would just be Al and I, I didn't want to go setting the wrong mood or something - so I opted for one of the murder mysteries. A particularly brutal one, at that.

Once I had everything set up and ready to go, I joined him in our small kitchenette, resting my forearms against the bar like counter that separated our kitchen from the living room. He was standing in front of the stove, flipping what smelled suspiciously like grilled cheese sandwiches. The pot to his left was steaming and I spotted a few opened cans of soup.

I found myself genuinely smiling at the mixing scents of tomato and butter, bread and cheese. They were comforting, to say the least. "Need help with anything, big guy?" I must have spooked him because he flinched and looked to me with wide eyes. His gaze naturally diverted to the dark bruises on my jaw and then the lump on my temple, before he turned back around stiffly.

"I've got this, just go sit down, I'll be done in a few minutes." He sounded annoyed, though whether that was at me for not telling him about what happened, or at my injuries themselves, I wasn't sure. Either way I scowled and walked away, fetching a few blankets and settling in on the couch again while I waited.

The smell of comfort food turned my stomach, now that I was annoyed. It didn't take him long at all to come back around holding a steaming mug of soup and a plate with a sandwich that had been cut into two triangles for me. I raised my brows and thanked him tersely before accepting his offered food.

I was hungry enough to let his attitude earlier slide. He went back for his own food and plopped down on the couch, with his own separate blanket, before I turned the movie on. He scoffed as the title came up and music began to play in the background.

"Do you ever watch anything happy?" He teased, his tone lighter than before, and I shrugged, nibbling on the corner of my sandwich, which only made him laugh. "How do you like it?" I scowled, hearing Peter ask me in his stupid fake polite tone how I liked the restaurant. When would I stop going there in my head?

"It's good. Thanks." Guilt burned up my throat at the clipped tone of my voice, but he didn't complain. We ate in silence, watching a couple pulling off the beaten path on a gravel road in a particularly cringe-worthy, awkward scene that was quickly smashed to pieces by the murderer pulling up and firing bullets into the side window.

I'd seen this particular movie about half a dozen times, but I still let myself get whisked up in it, sitting on the edge of my seat once I'd finished my soup and sandwich. It took all of half an hour before a warm arm draped itself around my shoulders and tensed. I reached up and pushed at the offending limb, feeling it drop harmlessly behind me on the couch.

I figured that was the end of that, and went back to the scene at hand, my mouth set in a firm line. I was having a hard time concentrating, though, all I could focus on was the phantom weight of Al's arm. He'd done that a few times before, but I'd never thought anything of it until now.

Once again, Al's arm draped itself across my shoulders and he scooted a few inches closer, all while looking forward, like he wasn't invading my space, and making me uncomfortable. He'd definitely never done it twice, after being pushed off. What exactly did he think this was? I pushed it off again, good and angry at this point.

"Knock it off seriously what are you-" I turned, expecting him to be a comfortable distance away, but instead, Al was right in front of me, maybe an inch or two from our foreheads touching, and my stomach dropped. Right now was not the appropriate time to be dealing with this kind of bullshit. I was angrier than I should have been by his timid attempts to..what? Seduce me, I suppose.

"Tris look..I..I really, really like you."

Damn it.

I sucked in a breath, trying to figure out the most polite way to shut him down. I didn't want to hurt him, he was Al, he was my friend, but this wasn't something I could condone. I'd planned out a nice, friendly speech in my head about how we were better as friends, and I wasn't equipped to deal with a relationship, but the words that left my mouth were not at all the ones I meant to say.

"Why did you lie to me about the phone call, the other day?" That knocked the smile off of his face - he looked wounded, like I'd punched him instead of spoken. Al leaned back a few inches, for which I was grateful, and stared down at his lap with a sour expression.

"I thought you didn't remember..?" So he did lie. It felt like I'd swallowed a handful of worms and they were all crawling up my stomach, trying to get back out. Peter had told me the truth and Al had lied to me. That didn't make any sense..except, well, it made all the sense in the world if he'd really breached my privacy like that.

"I didn't remember. Peter told me." His face darkened almost immediately at the name, and I could practically hear his teeth grinding together, "What the hell, Al? Since when is Peter more honest than you?" Even in the dimly lit room, I could see that his face was red, I'd pushed the right buttons, apparently.

"Since you decided to push me away and call that rat bastard instead! I was right there if you needed to talk, but instead, you..you storm off and call him? Have phone sex with him?" His words hit me, hard, filling me with rage and fear. Phone sex? I hadn't done that - Peter hadn't said anything about it. Was Al just lying to make me feel bad?

I stood up then, hands balled into fists at my sides, "I didn't have any kind of sex with Peter, I called to tell him what an asshole he was!" My friend, if I could still call him that, raised his brows with a look of barely disguised rage, and stood, too. He towered over me easily but I wasn't afraid - he was a coward, he wouldn't hurt me.

"You sure have a funny way of insulting someone then," His voice was deadly calm, shaking with the effort of containing his anger. He'd never spoken to me like this before, I would have been proud of him growing a backbone, were he not lying and treating me this way.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you were laid back against that damn wall, moaning his name! What else could that have been, hm?" His words dripped down my spine like ice and I felt sick, suddenly. Was that true? I was reminded, suddenly, of the way Peter seemed like he wasn't telling me something about the phone call. Surely I was just seeing things that weren't there.

I would never have done what Al was accusing me of, would I? I swallowed hard and glared up at him, feeling that same helpless rage from the night before, except this time there was no alcohol in my system weakening or dizzying me. "I don't believe you..I wouldn't..I wouldn't do something like that, and with him of all people!"

"I heard what I heard, Tris..I'm sorry, I..I shouldn't have lied to you I just..I was so mad." He stepped forward and I felt sick, I didn't want to forgive him, and I didn't want to think about what he'd implied. I wanted to be alone. He reached for me and I side stepped out of the way, picking up my plate and cup to feign a reason for shunting him.

"I'd like to be alone, now."

"Tris, please-" "Al, I said I want to be alone." I turned to face him, exhausted, I didn't have it in me to fight another battle, not when the wounds left by Peter and his thugs were still so raw. His face was veiled in sadness, and what I suspected might have been guilt, too. Good. I hoped he felt terrible.

Al hesitated, looking at me, and then at the floor in his usual fashion. "I..I'm sorry, I'll uh..I'll see you later, I guess." That made my shoulders relax a little, and I even walked him to the door, leaving the dishes in the kitchenette on the way.

"Thanks for lunch," I said, more out of instinct than out of actual kindness, but it seemed to relax him a bit, so that was probably good. He turned to look at me but I just looked away, my mouth set into a hard line. "Have a good day, Al." That seemed to do the trick, he sighed and stepped outside without another word, walking dejectedly down the hall and away.

With a heavy sigh, I made my way outside, going down the hall to fetch my clothes from the dryer before someone stole them or threw them on the ground or something. Their warmth was comforting, and they no longer smelled like Peter, so that was a good thing, too. I hurried back inside and set to folding and putting them away.

With that finished, I realized I had nothing to do - I could have gone back in the other room and finished my movie, but the idea made me feel sick to my stomach - so instead, I found myself reaching for my dream journal. I sat cross legged with it in my lap and flipped it open - hopefully it would serve as a good distraction from my problems.

I narrowed my eyes as I read over the first page, a strange mix of fear and nervousness twirling together at the sight of my handwriting. I didn't remember being this detailed when I wrote in it, but then, I'd never actually read any of it before.

I'd been putting it off, thanks to all the studying, and then of course Peter had stolen it, so I had no way of reading it at that point. I discovered quickly that there were pages from before I'd woken up with the journal under my face, and settled in to read those, first. I could have sworn that had been the day I started writing, but there were some entries dated a few weeks before that.

Some of the pages had rough sketches of places that I'd seen in dreams, others had notes in the margins, things that I seemed to have remembered separately from the timeline of events I'd recorded, or that didn't correspond directly with what I'd been writing.

In the margin on a page describing a dream about lining up with other people my age, of cutting our hands and dripping blood into bowls filled with various, strange contents, I saw a string of words that felt familiar enough to make my stomach twist.

Abnegation; Selfless; No mirrors; Stiff; Dauntless - I am brave. Divergent; Selfish;

There was a messy sketch of two hands cupped together that filled my chest with a warm memory I couldn't quite grasp. Next to it was a patch of flames that make me feel a sense of pride, although I had absolutely no clue as to why.

The following pages were filled with scenes that took place in a terrifyingly constant world that I'd only gotten snippets of in dreams, and phantom memories until now. I felt slightly dizzy as I read a passage about running in a pack of Dauntless, whatever that was, and cutting off a bus together - of jumping on a moving train and diving from the top of a building.

Most of things in my notebook were new to me, I didn't recall hardly any of the dreams written, and I definitely didn't remember writing them. What was even more terrifying - or exciting, depending on how I looked at it - was that as I was reading the passages, I could easily call images to mind, I knew what the places and people looked like without much trouble. I began furiously scribbling notes in where I could fit them.

Without meaning to, I wound up sitting at my desk, focusing on typing up as much of the information as possible. I had two separate documents side by side, one for the margin notes and the other for the dreams themselves. I couldn't tell you how long I sat there, pouring over those pages, typing mechanically.

Not once during the process did I think about what happened last night, or Al, or anything other than this bizarre dream world that seemed eerily similar to my own. It was a wonderful distraction, to say the very least.

As I typed each line, I worked on filling in the blanks where I could with the fresh memories triggered by the journal. One of the first things I managed to put anything into, that wasn't previously written down, was the phrase "first jumper" - it only made sense to me that it had something to do with my jumping from the roof of that building, Dauntless headquarters, and when I put it together with the rest of that experience it felt like I'd perfectly placed a piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

It slowly began to feel less like I was categorizing insane dreams, and more like I was remembering a life I'd never lived. I could almost feel the wind ripping at my clothes, and when I closed my eyes, I found it easy to picture the scene. It felt like I'd touched a live wire as I began to recognize previously blurred faces in the crowd of people behind me. The image behind my lids was less a dream and more a memory.

I quickly recognized Christina, Will and Al, and even managed to spot Uriah with that huge grin on his face, accompanied by sour Lynn and pleasant Marlene. I peered through the crowd until I got closer to the front, and was met by a frustratingly familiar shade of green glaring up at me. My eyes snapped open and my stomach churned - Peter, Drew, and Molly had been there.

In the notes document, I typed up the order I recognized faces in, what they were wearing, their expressions. All of it. For some reason, the fact that everyone in the crowd looked like they were wearing uniforms felt very important to me.

Before long I began to realized that my original interest in the journal was fading into obsession. I couldn't describe to you the desperation that pushed me to pick apart and analyze my dreams, to find an answer in it all. My gut was telling me that it was more than an overactive imagination, that there was something inherently important about what I'd been experiencing.

I wanted to believe that these weren't dreams, that they were memories, telling myself that I couldn't imagine so many faces I didn't know like that, alongside the ones I did. Something in me easily attacked that argument, reminding me I could, that I could easily have been pulling the memories of faces from people in school, and this was all one big placebo.

I might have believed that, relaxed into knowing that I'd just let my stress create a world without all the hassle of college and the academy, if it weren't for one small fact. I'd never been this creative in my entire life. I couldn't have imagined the choosing ceremony, the wide room packed with colorful strangers that it took place in. I couldn't dream up the Abnegation uniform that I wore in my memories, that I'd torn off a part of it, and thrown it in Peter's face as one of my first acts of defiance. That he'd called me Stiff.

By the time I was able to finish typing up a huge portion of my dreams, my hands were shaking; the clock told me I'd been pouring over everything for nearly five hours. The journal still had quite a few pages to go, but I was suddenly afraid to finish it, though I did take time to add in what I could remember about the ferris wheel dream, as well the one where I'd had a sparring match with Peter just the other night.

Some time in the middle of all of that, I let myself rest my head on my desk and fell asleep, my mind swimming with memories and experiences that were beginning to feel more realistic than my current existence.

Maybe I was going crazy.

* * *

I dedicated the next few days to the journal. Ever since I'd started really focusing on it, I'd begun to remember more of my dreams without having to read about them, and the few dreams I had between my waking hours were vivid; the details were easy to pick apart and describe. I didn't find it as surprising as I used to when people I knew personally tended to feature in the scenes of my sleeping world.

It had become almost comforting. Christina had tried a couple different times to goad me into leaving my room and going out, but each time, I turned her away. There was an inexplicable urgency to what I was doing. The more I delved in and made sense of the jumbled phrases and dreams, the more I felt it tingling up the back of my neck. The need to finish it. It felt more important than anything I'd ever done.

I knew I was close to something big, I just couldn't seem to figure out what exactly that was. During my reading, I learned that The Pit was a huge part of my life in the dream world, a part of my home, there. It wasn't a bar in that world, no, it was a hub of communication, and it had absolutely no railings or safety measures. It was raw and untouched by security the way it was in the waking world.

After nearly a week of living in my room, only coming out when I absolutely needed to for bare essentials, I'd caught up to the dream I'd had only the night before, to my last written page in the journal.

I'd been standing against a target in the room most of my dreams happened in - a training room that had the ever constant smell of dust, sweat and metal - and the man who helped me out of the net after I'd jumped in a previous dream, was throwing knives at my head. I felt like I should have known him, but even in the waking world I couldn't put a name to his face. In my dreams he was called Four - but that didn't help me. I didn't know anyone with that kind of name.

I remembered seeing Eric Coulter very clearly, many times, in this particular dream he seemed to be egging the man named Four on to torture me. I remembered my anger, too. Just thinking about it was making my neck and face burn with a rage I couldn't release. I stopped typing in the middle of a paragraph, leaving the cursor to blink at me, unfinished.

I needed to do something to distract myself, my hands were shaking again. When was the last time I'd eaten something more substantial than noodles? Without any excuse to stay inside, I pushed away from the computer, after turning it off.

I couldn't sit in there and pour over the words anymore. I was beginning to feel like I didn't exist in my own world, like the dreams were sucking me in and away from reality - I was sure I'd worried my friends with my absence. Christina had stopped checking in on me a few days ago.

I stretched my arms over my head and pushed my door open, blinking the bleariness away from my eyes only to see an afterimage of my monitor burned into my retinas. When I stepped out of my room, I almost immediately spotted three heads in the living room pulled together, one blonde and two brunette.

With more ease than I truly felt, I stepped forward until I was close enough to drape my arms over the couch, so that I had one hand on Al's shoulder and the other on Will's, while my chin rested on top of Christina's head. They each jumped, and in the time it took for me to stand upright and pull my arms back to my sides, they each had spun around to face me.

I must have looked awful, their expressions were matching sets of wide eyes and slack jaws. "Having fun without me?" I was surprised at how my voice croaked. When was the last time I'd had an actual conversation with someone? Had it been when Al was over? Probably. I didn't count the one sided, short talks Chris had with me, trying to convince me to go out. I thought of my phone, then, abandoned in the corner of my room, I still hadn't checked it.

"She lives!" Will chirped, suddenly I felt grateful for having taken a shower earlier that morning, now that I was faced with the three of them. It was easier to feel human, and whole, when my hair wasn't falling around my shoulders in limp threads.

I peered at them, feeling a strange sense of vertigo - for a moment I was struck by the memory of being slung over Al's shoulder in the pit; of Christina's laughter mingling with Will's as it bounced off the rocky walls - at the wave of homesickness that washed over me.

The feeling terrified me.

It must have shown on my face, because suddenly Will looked as though he swallowed something foul and Christina smacked his arm. "I'm sorry I didn't..I uh, it's, good to see you." He stuttered, which snapped me out of my own little world. The one I'd been living in to pretend the present didn't exist. I shook my head and smiled as best as I could, rolling my shoulders in a shrug.

"No you're..it's okay, I've just been tired from all the cramming we did with exams and everything. I feel a lot better, now," I lied uneasily, it was hard to swallow, and Christina looked at me like she didn't believe that one bit, but they accepted my apology all the same.

Al spoke up in a tone that didn't sound like I'd turned him down only a week prior, "Hey, don't apologize, it's totally understandable. Those exams were rough," It didn't make me feel good at all that he was so willing to take what I said to heart. Did that mean he'd blame the way I'd acted the last time we'd been together on that? I hoped not.

I came around to sit on the couch with them, Will was in the middle, so I choose to sit on Christina's side, the furthest from Al. The soft eyed look he was giving me wasn't helping at all with the urge to disappear into my room again.

I still knew next to nothing about the dreams I was having, about the bigger picture, but it had to be important that those three had such a big role in them. It had to be more than me just filling them in subconsciously, didn't it?

I bit the inside of my cheek and tilted my head, waiting for someone to talk again. My stomach growled, first, cutting the silence in half and causing them to erupt into laughter. At least it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. Will shot up first, offering his hand to Christina, and Al looked as though he might have been planning to follow suit, so I pressed my palms to the cushions below me and vaulted myself upright before he had a chance.

"I guess that answers our debate," I must have looked as confused as I felt, because Christina laughed before explaining herself. "We've been twiddling our thumbs, trying to decide what we wanted to do to pass the time. Al didn't feel like going anywhere too big, I don't want to sit in and watch movies and-" "And I don't care what we do as long as we do something," Will interjected with a cheeky sort of grin.

Why did I keep letting these three get so distant from me, when I felt so strongly about being near them? I realized with a start that for the last week I hadn't felt removed from them, if anything it felt like I'd been closer than ever, thanks to the dreams.

That thought alone made me suddenly wary of diving back into my journal - I couldn't allow myself to continue warping reality like that. "Oh, well, I guess let me get dressed and we'll go, if that works for you guys?"

* * *

Sitting around a table, laughing with the people who meant the world to me, had helped significantly in bringing me back to the real world - suddenly my dreams seemed ridiculous and childish - and I felt more at peace than I had in weeks, months even.

I wasn't sure if Will or Al know about what happened with Peter, surely he'd bragged about it by now, but if they did, they were polite enough not to mention it. I was eternally grateful for that fact, if he managed to find his way into our everyday conversations, that would just be another win for him.

I needed to stop seeing him in shadows, lurking and ready to pounce. His fingerprints had been smudging and staining all that I loved for too long. I couldn't have that. He meant nothing to me, and I wasn't afraid of him, so it was my job to not give him more power than he deserved. I decided then that he was no more than an annoyance to me - I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of breaking me down.

My need to escape the world I'd nearly let myself disappear into had landed us in a small, family operated pizza shop I'd never even heard of before. The air was hot, and dry, it carried the scents of cooking bread and thickly seasoned sauces - everything about it was inherently new and right then, new was exactly what I needed.

I managed to stay engaged in our conversation for the majority of the night, though nothing worth repeating was said. It mostly involved catching me up on what I'd missed in the last week: how they'd started working out for the physical part of the academy, the studying that had been going on, how Christina and Will's relationship was panning out.

I was invested entirely, and went through our entire meal without saying a word about the dream world that had nearly consumed me. One look at their faces, and how normal and real everything was, told me they wouldn't understand. I didn't even understand.

"So are we still touring the academy today?" Al asked, giving me in particular a pointed look, like he didn't want to straight out ask me if I'd forgotten our plans. I absolutely had. I wondered, briefly, if Christina would have reminded me at all, if I hadn't chosen to join them for lunch, but I didn't ask. I didn't want to know.

My pocket buzzed, letting me know that I had a new message, but I ignored that. Anyone I wanted to hear from was sitting across from me at the table. I still hadn't found the courage to answer my unopened texts, I hadn't even looked to see who they were from, only that there were fifteen of them, and a few missed calls.

I didn't even consider seeing who it was or what they wanted. Instead, I focused on eating the piping hot triangle of food in front of me and listening as Christina and Will argued over whether we were supposed to be there at eleven or eleven fifteen. The smile that pulled at my features felt foreign, and I wondered when the last time I'd actually smiled was.

On my date, my brain reminded me without kindness, making me feel sick. My stomach clenched and, suddenly, I didn't have an appetite. Guess that was another point to Peter. I offered the remainder of my food to everyone else, and they took it happily. I was smiling, so they didn't ask if I was okay.

Part of me wished they would have.

Most of me was grateful they didn't.

* * *

The tour itself was nothing to write home about - it was about what you'd expect out of a police operated building. Clean and no nonsense. A lot of long hallways filled with too many windows, and painfully bright lighting that made my head hurt; a lot of speeches that told us little to nothing while saying more than necessary just to relish in the sound of their own voices.

I learned very little about the actual academy, and we couldn't even visit the dorms until it was time for us to stay, currently they were being renovated and cleaned up, prepared for us. That had been a disappointment.

We were introduced to a few people I'd never heard of, and given speeches by them as well, the names didn't stick, but I did notice that the majority of them were covered in piercings and tattoos, and had scars on their knuckles. They were a hardened people. My brain flashed to the word Dauntless like it was second nature, but I tried to ignore that thought.

It was only as I was following Christina and Will towards the exit after that absolutely thrilling thirty minute tour - and brief explanation of what would be expected of us during our training - that I felt something crinkle in my pocket. That was odd.

I reached inside and found a sheet of notebook paper, roughly crumbled and folded. There was a message, a messy scrawl written in blue pen, asking me to visit the public restroom on the main floor once our tour was finished. That was even more strange than the realization that this had been slipped into my pocket without my noticing it. The only signature was the letter N at the bottom.

I frowned and crumpled it up into a ball, considering ignoring it, but I was curious, and curiosity would one day be the death of me. Instead of continuing straight, I veered to the left, towards the sign that pointed out the direction of the restrooms. When Will looked over his shoulder, shooting me a questioning look, I pointed to the sign and shrugged. His only response was a thumbs up before he turned back around, letting it go at that. Watching how naturally his arm draped itself around Christina, and how she instinctively leaned into him, made me smile.

I glanced from one side of the hall to the other with an odd sense of urgency, before stepping into the bathroom. It was unremarkable; clean, covered in white to the point it hurt to really look at any one thing, especially since the stalls were made of a reflective metal. Even the countertops bounced light harshly at me, but it was easy to look away when I spotted a figure leaning against the far wall of the bathroom, arms crossed.

She was pretty, not gorgeous, but far prettier than I was. Her skin was a warm brown color, and popped out against her dark hair - nearly black in this light - her body was draped in a jumpsuit, the uniform of a custodian. She had a stern look to her; was this the mysterious N who slipped a note in my pocket without alerting me?

She looked past me to the door, and waited for a few moments, long enough for me to realize that she was making sure there wasn't anyone else coming in behind me.

"Look - we need to be quick; I don't know how much you remember, or know, but I know you've got an insanely high resistance to serums, so I have to hope that you remember something." I stared at her as she talked, trying to pick apart anything in the words she'd thrown at me that I recognized.

The term serum made me feel like I remembered something, a dull ache in my throat, a strange tasting liquid, but it was nothing solid enough for me to grasp. "My name is Juanita - I'd prefer you call me Nita, if that's okay. I know you're confused, Tris, but you're the last hope I have." Desperation looked powerful on Nita.

"I..how do you know my name?" I didn't trust her. I wanted to, though.

"I..it's..complicated. I can explain that later, right now I need to know if you remember any of it."

"Remember any of what? You're not making any sense," I pinched my eyebrows together, frustration burning in my chest and felt a bubble of panic rising up from within, though I couldn't explain why. Why did that stranger's nonsense scare me so much? I thought of the dreams, and immediately dismissed them, it was idiotic to think she was talking about that.

"Look, this," She gestured around herself widely, and I wasn't sure if she meant the room, or the building, our meeting, or something more than that, but I didn't interrupt her to ask, "Is all fabrication - it's repurposed from a different life. Your real life, Tris, and I need to know you remember that. You have to remember it."

Her words were sharp and jittery, she sounded like someone on their last legs, not at all like the confident woman she'd been just moments before. I was stuck on her words, chewing on the phrase real life, and I wasn't sure I knew what she meant. Except, whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was beginning to think that I might have understood what she was implying, after all. I laughed.

"You're..you sound insane.." Her face dropped immediately. I considered walking away, my hands were balled up into fists at my sides to keep them from shaking. I didn't know her, or anything about her, I certainly did not owe her the privacy of my dreams. It felt too much like letting her take a walk through my brain if I were to talk about them.

I wanted to tell her. I needed to tell someone.

"I..maybe I've made a mistake," Her voice was harder now, resigned. She pushed away from the wall and I thought she meant to just brush past me, but at the last moment she stopped, and put a hand on my shoulder, passing me a slip of paper with numbers written on it. "If you remember, even if you don't know what it is you're remembering..call me."

I should have let it end there, let her walk away and never think about all of this again. She released me and reached for the door handle, and suddenly I found it hard to breathe, like all the air in the room had been sucked out and I was left gasping. Her words ran through my head, racing in circles, taunting me.

What if the dreams were real? What if they were my reality, and this was the false reality? What if I wasn't crazy after all?

What did that mean for me?

"Wait." I didn't remember deciding to say that, or turning around to face her, giving her the most serious expression I think I'd ever held, but it did the trick. She turned to face me, brows upraised.

She didn't speak, just crossed her arms again and looked at me expectantly, her eyes were less stern than her face was. In them I saw fear and hope mingling together, and suddenly the words were spilling out of me, pouring off of my tongue and filling the room with my secrets, With the world I'd kept to myself up until this point.

Her eyes lit up, the longer I talked, and I wanted to stop, I wanted to keep some of this for myself, she didn't need it all, it was mine. My life, I thought, with a fear so real it sent shudders down my spine, but I couldn't stop.

Nita drank up my words like they kept her alive, and so I told her everything, laid it out bare until I had nothing left to give. She stared at me for a long time, with a big smile on her face, and I felt like my knees might have collapsed beneath me at any moment.

I'd said it - I'd said it all, not to my friends, but this woman I didn't even know. She didn't look at me like I was crazy, or over imaginative, if anything, it almost felt like she was impressed with me. Her hands lifted to her head, fingers combing through her hair, and she let out a short laugh, laced with more emotion than I could have appropriately described.

"That's..that's amazing, Tris. You remember way more than I expected - I mean, it seems like it's sort of isolated to your training at Dauntless, but maybe that's just a stimulus from spending all your time around your fellow faction members." My head was spinning, she wasn't making any sense, but I didn't tell her that.

"This is..wow. I need to talk to Matthew about this - just..woah." Her eyes found mine, and I was amazed to see how thrilled she was. I felt hollow, and terrified, but I seemed to have breathed life back into her. No. Not life - hope. The realization hit me like a bag of bricks. No one could be that happy over dreams. I didn't even stop to wonder who Matthew was, or whether I wanted her telling him about me, I was too overwhelmed.

"Are you telling me that stuff is real - that..that it actually happened to me?" Her smile widened, she didn't see the terror that was filling me up from all sides. She was ecstatic. I'd really jumped on moving trains, leapt off of buildings - nearly died on a ferris wheel? My heart pounded against my chest. I'd really fought and lost to Peter.

"Yes - Tris. Yes. All of it's real, there's tons more but I can't tell you about it right now, you've already been in here too long. They're going to get suspicious - just..you can't tell anyone about this. I'd assume the Bureau knows you're remembering things, they'd be able to see you keeping the journal and they'd know if you put it on your computer.

Either they're going to try and erase you again or they'll let you remember...maybe it's part of the experiment." There was a buzzing in my ears, and once more I found it difficult to breathe. I didn't know what she was talking about, but I got the feeling that it was very bad.

What was the Bureau, and why would they have known about my journal, or my computer? What experiment was she talking about? She seemed to realize that I was confused, because she stopped talking abruptly, pursing her lips. Nita ran a hand through her hair, one hand gripping her elbow and the other resting under her chin.

"So I'm just supposed to..what? Believe you that my whole life has been one big fat lie - that in reality I live in an insane world where people jump out of moving trains and throw knives at people's heads regularly?" She nodded, making me feel sick.

"Just..don't talk about it to anyone - keep it to yourself. Give me your number, though, I'll be in touch when I learn something new. They can read into your device just as easily as they can your computer, so don't send me anything specific and don't mention me by name - just..short, simple messages." She looked thoughtful for a long moment and then smiled,

"I'm so happy you remember, this is a huge step for us..thank you for meeting with me. I know this is all hard to believe but..I'll get you proof, soon." I nodded, suddenly eager to get out of the bathroom, and away from her. It felt like a wasp has made a nest in my brain and there were dozens of the creatures flying around in there, making it hard to concentrate over the insanity and chaos within.

Nita took down my contact information, and sent me out of the bathroom, after making me wash my hands. I felt like I was operating on autopilot. Christina was standing at the entrance by herself and smiled when I came up to her, explaining that Will had to head home. I nodded slowly, and she frowned at me, but didn't ask. I loved her for it.

I wasn't ready to lie - she'd know I was doing it - so I was glad for the silence, it let me decide how I'd approach the next situation. I wondered then, whether I should have believed Nita or not, after all, she hadn't given me any proof other than knowing about my dreams.

Then I thought of the journal, of my computer, and of the mysterious 'they' she mentioned. The Bureau. She talked like they were watching our every move, examining us in some giant experiment. That was insane.

Just as insane as recurring dreams featuring the same people and the same world, in a constant, forward moving timeline. Just as insane as how sure I was that Nita was telling the truth, even though I didn't want to believe it.

My dreams were real.

No.

My dreams were memories.


	9. Drunk Dial

Okay so I've had a lot of requests to write this up - and I don't..hate it? But also I'm not very good at this sort of thing, it's my first time writing anything in this kind of setting (i.e: phone stuff ) So forgive me?

Anyway, onwards!

(Sorry it's kinda short, but the call was only like, twenty/thirty minutes so..)

* * *

Alcohol has a funny way of making you feel a lot more confident than you'd ever imagine possible. Or at least, it did for me. I'd managed to take four and a half shots to everyone else's steady five - well, everyone except for Al, he wasn't taking any at all - and I was still sitting upright and conscious, so those were all good signs that I was doing well..I think.

So what if the room was spinning like a top, right? My tongue was swollen and stuck to the roof of my mouth, and suddenly I felt the intense urge to go walking - I needed fresh air. I needed to make sure the world wasn't actually moving as fast as it felt like, or I might have lost my composure and gotten sick.

Moving was a lot more difficult when my limbs felt like lead, though, and I had a hard time pushing myself away from the booth. It resulted in one tipped over pitcher spilling its meager contents across the table and three..or maybe six sets of eyes staring at me with varying degrees of concern and alarm. I grinned and waved my hand dismissively - or tried to, it flopped back down into my lap as soon as I lifted it - mumbling a quick, "M'fine,"

Somehow, I can't really say for sure how, I got to my feet without needing to hold on to anything for support. Al stood up, too, holding a hand out to me with furrowed brows, but I shook my head and frowned. Or at least, I'm pretty sure I frowned. My face was admittedly a little numb. "Are you okay, Tris?" His voice was irritatingly concerned for me, and I felt a twist in my gut. I didn't need protection! So I shook my head and tried to smile, though I can't say it was particularly convincing.

"Yep." I giggled at the way the 'p' popped, which didn't seem to do any favors for making me appear to be okay. "I'll be back-I can do it alone," That seemed to wound Al, he looked away almost immediately and sat down - I didn't apologize.

With that settled, I walked away, finding support in the railings for the first and possibly last time in my life - I still didn't like them, but they made it a little easier to keep myself from dying. Things went a little sideways from there, somehow I'd crossed the bridge over the river below without plummeting to my death, so that was something to cheer about.

I can't tell you how I wound up with my phone in hand, or what brought me to the conclusion that I should call Peter and let him know what an insufferable bastard he was, but the line was ringing and there was no backing down from it. At least, not unless he didn't answer.

I considered hanging up, but then there was a noise other than ringing on the line, and it caught me off guard enough to stay put. I could just hear the rustling of fabric and a tired groan. I'd woken him up - good. Just-woken-Peter sounded husky, his voice rough and slow, which was something I could have gone my entire life without knowing.

"Jesus Prior, why are you calling me at-" There was a pause and more rustling, maybe he was rolling around to find his alarm clock, and I felt a growing sense of discomfort. Why _was_ I calling him, exactly? Why would I willingly talk to this absolute prick? "At _two-thirty_ in the _morning?_ I get it - you want me, but can't it wait? I was having the _hottest_ dream-" He paused for a moment and I prepared to jump in, to yell at him, but he started talking again too soon. "Hold on. What the hell's all that noise-wait..are you. Oh my god. Are you drunk dialing me?" I could feel my cheeks burning at his accusation. He sounded pleased with himself. Damn it.

I scowled and leaned against the wall, but he couldn't see that. I'd ducked into an alcove further away from all the noise - it didn't lead anywhere and I suspected it was more for people to disappear from prying eyes than anything, but I was tired and my head was full of insane dreams of making Peter feel small and insignificant.

Of convincing him that I could come and get my things without being bribed. I needed to stay strong, and on point, and not be distracted by his stupid confidence. Slowly I rested the back of my head flush against the wall, and felt the coolness of the rocks there seep into my skull. It was comforting, to say the least.

"Shut up - tha's not the point."

"Holy shit, you _are!"_ He cackled into the line, suddenly sounding far more awake than he had been a few minutes ago. Great. I'd just served to amuse him, to make it look like I was some desperate girl calling him for..what exactly did he assume?

I didn't want to think about it - I could hear lips smacking around the corner, and shuddered to think of the couple I was bothering with this phone call. Shit. What was I thinking? I began to pace, pinching the bridge of my nose. Right. I needed to set Peter straight. I didn't like him, I didn't _want_ him - I hated him more than anything else. I could do this.

"Shut _up._ Y'know what, Peter-Y-you're an asshole! What's your fucking _problem?_ "

"Wow. You sure have a weird concept of foreplay, there, Prior. Fine, I'll play along. Go on, tell me I've been a _bad_ boy,"

"God! You're so..so..augh! This was a bad idea.." I grumbled suddenly, realizing that my yelling at him would only serve as his amusement, it wouldn't make me feel better - he'd just laugh and turn all of my serious comments into some way to make fun of me.

"You don't say? Sounds like an _amazing_ idea to me. If we're done here, I've got a gorgeous girl to go find in my dreams and finish plowing," Was he trying to make me uncomfortable by continuing to go back to that? To embarrass me, or was he seriously that open about his disgusting fantasies?

I stopped pacing. With a frustrated grunt I butted my forehead against the wall a few times, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jar my teeth and make the room stop spinning just a little bit. It was hard to stay grounded and focused when the alcohol in my system dropped a haze over my eyes.

"You're such a pig..and, why are you torturing me, anyway? What did I do to you?" I snapped, there was anger in my voice again, and suddenly all the torment I'd gone through for the last few weeks was bubbling to the surface. Peter was..surprisingly silent as I laid into him.

"I barely even _know_ you, and yet it's your fucking prerog-..per..fuck. Your _goal_ to push me around and try to..what? Emb-barrass me? Break me down? It's not gonna happen, lemme tell you that much. I can't _wait_ to kick your ass in the academy - I'll wipe the floor with you." My speech would probably have been a little more impressive, were it not broken by hiccups and stammering, but I didn't care. It got the point across.

His laughter surprised me, catching me off guard, but he still didn't talk - it was like he was allowing me to vent my frustrations, which made no sense at all - but I continued anyway. It felt good to tell him all of this, to have no filter and to let the rage pour out of me.

"Oh and, for th' record, M'not a _child_! Just 'cause I've got muscles..'n endur-ance, and I _train_ doesn't make me a little girl. Just 'cause 'm built narrow doesn't mean I'm not a grown woman! It jus' means I'll be able to fight you better - you and people jus' like you."

"That's adorable, really. You know, it's pretty hot when you get all angry, but, I thought you weren't _bothered_ by us, _or_ our teasing? Guess I really have gotten under your skin - and here I was thinking about stepping off and leaving you alone," He tutted, making my blood boil.

That had to be a lie, there was no way he thought I wasn't affected by the way I'd been treated! I screwed my eyes shut and pictured the look on his face, which was a bad decision, because the last memory I had was of him standing in the hall, gripping my wrist in his hand. Shirtless. Of narrowed green eyes, and that stupid smirk on his face. Forgetting someone's freckles is harder than you could imagine.

"Y'know what, Peter? You can take that shitty attitude of yours and..and your pretty green _eyes_ and. Get. Lost." Wait. What did I just say? The words were out there now, and he made a quiet _hmm_ ing sound into the line that made me regret ever picking up the phone in the first place. So what if his eyes were pretty? There were plenty of things that could be considered gorgeous but still bad, it didn't mean anything that I found one feature about him that was likable. Right?

"Mm. So you think my eyes are pretty, huh?" God damn it.

"So what? Doesn' make me hate you any less, Hayes. You're desp-hic-able, rega..regardless of that fact." I needed to stop talking if I was going to continue slurring like that, it only turned everything I said into something to laugh at. I was angry and I still managed to find it funny, Peter had to be having a field day.

My ear was filled with the sound of his chuckling, but it was different somehow, deeper and more of a rumble than I was accustomed to hearing. It was..almost genuine? I could say for sure that it was absolutely not even a little bit attractive, and I definitely didn't want to hear it again. The chill bumps on my arms were just from leaning against a cold wall, not from the gruff sound of his voice.

"That's alright. I like you better when you hate me, anyway. _Way_ sexier." I scowled, forgetting that he couldn't see it. "So, what is it about my eyes that are so _pretty_ , anyway?" This prick. "Or are you so much of an angry little girl that you can't say it? I've been pretty cooperative about letting you yell at me after waking me up like this - you could at least have the decency to be honest with me, like a _big girl_ \- and, like you said, complimenting me doesn't make me any less despicable, right?"

The words stung, but they made sense in a twisted kind of way. What harm could come of telling him the truth? It wasn't like I'd suddenly start liking him or something; that was absolutely impossible. What the hell was happening to this conversation? Hadn't I originally called him up to tell him how awful he was?

" _Fine_. I..they're..I like the color, okay? It's this..really deep, gorgeous shade of green," shit, I didn't mean to say that, "Fuck. Fuck you, Peter. You're makin' fun of me again. S'not fair," He wasn't laughing anymore.

I could hear a slight rustling of fabric as he apparently shifted positions on his end. This was getting sort of weird, I wasn't yelling at him anymore, so I should probably have gone ahead and ended the call, right? For some reason, though, I couldn't find it within me to do that.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum, now?" He asked, that stupid smirk in his voice, I knew it was there without even needing to see him, but the downside to standing there like that with my eyes closed was being able to conjure an image of him, whether I wanted to or not. I shifted, resting my back against the wall again, rather than my forehead.

I imagined his hair was probably messy, like it had been the last time I'd seen him, that he was shirtless and balled up in his sheets. Were his eyes closed, too? Why was I even thinking about that? Why did I care what he looked like? I'd had too much to drink for sure. I couldn't find my voice - I couldn't think of a good answer.

"My turn to talk then, isn't it? You'll stay on the line and listen like a good girl, right?"

It wasn't fair that those words made me shiver. No, no, that was just the temperature of the room and the fact that I had on short sleeves. It had nothing to do with the rough syllables in my ear. I didn't argue, but I didn't reply, either. It surprised me when his voice barked through the line, sounding mildly irritated.

"Right, Prior?"

"..right." Why was I agreeing to this? What exactly was I agreeing to, anyway? To listen to him berate me? It was technically fair, since he hadn't hung up on me when he deserved the right to, but why would I subject myself to that? Why did I care what was fair so far as he was concerned?

"Right, what?" The words surprised me and I scowled, there was no way in hell he was going to get me to say that. None whatsoever. After another ample pause, he sighed into the earpiece, and I imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. It filled me with pride.

"Just say it. The quicker you suck it up and do what I ask, the quicker you can get back to your friends, and besides. You're curious, right?" He had a point. I gritted my teeth, and felt the heat rising to my cheeks. At least no one was around to hear this, right?

"..I'll..be a good girl, and stay on the line," It was equal parts embarrassing and shameful to say those words. To feel like I was some kind of puppy being given instructions on how to behave. It occurred to me that I could just hang up, but I _was_ curious now, I wanted to know what he would say.

It occurred to me that we'd never had a real conversation before that didn't involve him berating me, or me yelling at him. The alcohol in my system was convincing, telling me that I should take a chance and listen up. The worst that could happen would be him talking to me the way I'd just done to him,I could always hang up, it wasn't like those words were binding.

"Good." He was quiet for a few seconds, and I found myself uncomfortable, I just wanted him to _talk_ already, I think, maybe, a small part of me wanted to hear his voice, which was ridiculous. I had no reason to want that what so ever. "You won't interrupt me, either. Just, answer my questions when I ask them, and be quiet the rest of the time, unless I say otherwise."

I nodded, and then realized that he couldn't see that, so I mumbled under my breath, "Okay." Which was a hard pill to swallow - two syllables and I'd put him in control, I'd submitted. What the hell was happening? That seemed to be all he needed to hear as he cleared his throat, I could just hear more rustling fabric in the background for a moment before he started talking.

"Okay," He parroted back to me, "so, since you got to tell me what's on _your_ mind - it's my turn, right? You stole that dream from me, so.." Did he sound nervous? Was that even possible? "I'm gonna tell you about it, in detail. Not because I want to tell _you_ , but because, if we're being honest adults here, I'm horny, and this is..sort of one of my big turn ons." I didn't mean to hiss through my teeth, but the words sent a chill through me, and he chuckled.

"So. Deal with it, alright?" I felt my cheeks flush and opened my mouth to argue - was this really his point? To talk about..well, some kind of kinky wet dream to me over the phone? My ears and face were burning now, and I considered hanging up right then and there, but damn it if I wasn't curious. So I didn't respond, just listened to the sound of him breathing on the other line and felt my heart racing in my ears.

His breaths were heavy, like he'd just run a marathon, and I wondered if a small part of him really _was_ nervous. I felt a tingle run down my spine as I thought about the fact that I was dealing with a tired, turned on pervert who wanted to share his fantasies with me. I wanted to say I wasn't interested, that the idea was repulsive but..well, that wouldn't be entirely true. I was _curious_ \- and..maybe a little excited.

"Alright so..I'm just kicked back in The Pit, minding my own business and this woman comes up to me," He started, sounding more confident with each word that escaped him, "And holy shit, I mean, she's hot - ten out of ten, and sits next to me. I'm sure we talked, but that's a little fuzzy,"

I got the feeling I was in for a long night if this was the pace he was setting, "Not important. So, anyway, she wasted no time, I mean _no_ time at all, and immediately had her hand running up and down the inside of my leg,"

I bit the inside of my cheek, picturing the scene behind closed eyes, despite the fact that I didn't want to, but, I couldn't imagine the girl, because he hadn't described her - aside from how attractive she was - so I wound up imagining myself doing those things, which only made the entire situation even weirder.

"and she starts rubbing me through my pants, full out stroking my dick like we're not in a public place, until I was super close to losing my damn mind." I flushed at his choice of words - it was probably the first time I'd heard that particular phrase used as anything but an insult, "I grabbed her wrist, and dragged her away from the bar - because, let's be honest, there's no gain in me getting off in my pants, talk about uncomfortable and dissatisfying - and we wound up in the back cavern.."

He paused, humming to himself, "Which - I'd be willing to bet money on this - I'm guessing that's where you are right now, isn't it?" It may have been my imagination, but I thought I heard him groan right before he took a deep breath. I didn't want to think about what he was doing to cause that kind of noise to pass his lips, or why they made my legs feel like jello.

I swallowed hard, trying not to imagine Peter's dream self, staggering to where I was with a mystery woman in tow. I hated how breathy my voice had become, I didn't want him to think that this was doing anything more than weirding me out. "Y-yeah,"

His next words surprised me, "Respond yes - or," His tone turned suddenly mischievous, "Yes, sir. That works, too." I narrowed my eyes, opening my mouth to argue, but he cut me off before I could form any kind of argument. I was _not_ calling him sir.

"What are you wearing, Prior? I can't picture you there, of all places," Why did that send a shiver right up my spine? I closed my eyes and counted to five - it was part of the agreement, and despite the fact that I would never admit it, I wanted to hear the rest of his dream. I was intrigued.

"I..Christina dressed me up, so..uh, tank top, her jeans, and boots," If he'd been hoping for sexy, he'd come to the wrong person. I felt a little embarrassed by that, even more so at the fact that a small part of me wanted to be sexy in that moment.

"..hair up or down?" Why was he so interested in what I looked like? Wasn't he trying to tell me about his dream? I looked up at the sound of footsteps, the couple around the corner had walked out past me with looks of irritation on their faces, like I'd been bothering them, but I tried not to think about that.

"Down," He let out a soft moan that sent the blood rushing to my cheeks, I opted not to respond to that. Instead I closed my eyes again, feeling feverish suddenly. I pressed my back a little more firmly against the wall, enjoying the cold that seeped through my shirt and helped to cool me down at least a little bit.

"Anyway," He cleared his throat, sounding slightly uncomfortable, which made me feel a little better, "I shoved her back into the first alcove in the wall I could find," Suddenly the cold wall on my back felt more personal, "and started kissing and biting her neck and man, did she taste good- the whole time she was pulling on my clothes, and practically begging me to fuck her."

His tone made my stomach clench, he was brazen and rash, and I found myself enjoying the way he talked, which was irritating. I had a heat pooling in my lower abdomen and moving between my thighs, causing me to squeeze them together tightly. A soft noise passed my lips at the motion that seemed to stop him for a moment, allowing its absence to hang between us.

"Mn..so I grabbed her hips and pushed her further up the wall, until she had her legs wrapped around me, I was grinding against her to make her scream.. _god_ did that feel good, and then-" I didn't realize I was hanging on his words, and the image he was painting, until he stopped abruptly and sighed. "And then..you called me," It was a little easier to see why that could have been frustrating, now that I'd been in his head.

"I want you to do something for me," His voice was gravel and grit, growling down the line, and into my ear, and I didn't hate it. My heart was racing as I waited for him to continue, my tongue darting out to dampen my lips. "I want you to touch yourself - I want you to moan. I'm close, and I want to come, and you ruined my perfectly good material with your call,"

It felt like someone had hit me in the stomach and knocked all the breath out of me - like I'd been hosed down with fire, and it was difficult to decide which of those feelings were worse, let alone figure out why I felt a tingle of desire creeping up the insides of my thighs. This was Peter! I should have gagged, called him a disgusting pervert, and hung up.

Instead I bit my cheek and whimpered into the phone, feeling something between shame and nerves, "B-but I don't..I don't know how..to do that." I stammered, knowing he'd tease me, it was fairly common, from what I'd heard in tidbits of conversation from classmates and friends over the years, but I'd never been particularly interested in that sort of thing. Until now, anyway.

He chuckled, but it was low in his throat and missing its usual malice. It was unfairly attractive, and I hated it. Without his stupid smug face, I could be attracted to that voice, to the sounds he was making. Peter moaned into the phone; I felt my heart flutter, and a pulse of..something twitch and flare at the apex of my thighs. "That's a shame. I wanted to hear you moan. Did you enjoy my story, at least? Did I make you wet, Prior?"

"I..yea-yes." I squeaked out, horrified at the fact that I'd corrected myself, that I'd responded they way he'd _commanded_ of me. What the hell was happening? I ached in a way I wasn't sure I'd ever felt before and squeezed my thighs together a little tighter, which felt good. Good enough that another quiet noise escaped me, not quite a moan, but close enough that Peter's breath caught and he started talking again.

"Mmn. That's a good girl - god damn it, I can't believe I'm saying this..but I wish you were here." Once again, a flush crept onto my face. Had I heard him correctly? Without meaning to I pictured him, a sprawled out mess of pale skin and random freckles, sweating and moaning down the line as his hand moved beneath the covers, I was sure that he was touching himself, and that..actually turned me on. God help me.

"Fuck, if you were here, you'd be begging me, Prior. I'd have you naked and tied down, and I'd-oh _fuck_ ," My legs had no right to feel weak, but this had just become very personal. I kept my eyes shut tight and leaned against the wall a bit more firmly. For the first time in my life, I felt disappointed that I didn't know how to touch myself, how to alleviate the frustrating pressure building, and threatening to burn me alive. The hand not holding the phone was gripping the front of my shirt for dear life.

"God I'm close, Tris, please, please for the love of _God_ moan, say my name, _anything,"_ He grunted with an air of authority that sent chills down my spine, and I didn't even pause at the fact that he'd called me by name. Not Prior - _Tris_. I didn't think I could moan again, but rubbed my thighs together anyway. Would me calling him by name make him feel as tingly as I had when he'd done it?

I felt self conscious, but a shudder of pleasure washed through me as I ground my legs together, and the name spilled off of my lips, possibly for the first time in my life I'd said it without a trace of hatred or anger, just a breathy, wanton kind of mewl that I might have been ashamed of had I not been drunk on all the sounds he was making directly into my ear-and..y'know, actually drunk, too.

" _Peter.._ " He yelped then, as though in pain, but I never got to hear whatever it was he had to say next, because suddenly there was a hand over mine and my eyes popped open in panic, someone had heard me say it. Heard me _moan_ Peter's goddamn name like a lover, rather than a rival, rather than an enemy! The phone was plucked from my hand and I stared up at Al with a mixture of horror and rage.

It had to be him.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need to leave Tris alone. You're just taking advantage of the fact that she's hammered, and she's not in the right state of mind to be talking to someone like you." I felt angry, but with my eyes open the world lurched and the spinning resumed tenfold. I felt like I might be sick - I couldn't even stand on my own.

I'd planned to say Al's name, to say anything, really, but immediately clasped my mouth shut and covered it with my hand. Keeping it open made me feel ill. Without a voice, without _Peter's_ voice, as an anchor I started to float away into the alcohol induced haze I'd been drifting in and out of all night. I felt sick and weak. At some point Al stuffed my stolen phone into my front pocket and slung an arm around me.

Despite everything, there was still an agonizing tingle in my core, a burning ache, a _need_ , and Peter of all people had put it there. I felt like my skin was on fire, and compared to Al's cold, clammy skin, it probably was. I didn't have it in me to look at him - to look him in the face knowing he'd heard me. What had possessed me to do any of that?

"Let's get you home.." He mumbled, but he sounded angry, not concerned. I closed my eyes and became dead weight, but he didn't complain. Instead, I felt my feet leave the floor and he carried me. Normally, I might have protested, but I was tired, and it allowed for me to focus on the pulse of need that pounded like a heartbeat between my legs. Thanks to Peter and his stupid story, and his even more stupid voice, I was turned on, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Getting home was a blur - Al never put me down, and I never asked him to. I might have fallen asleep, but I wasn't entirely sure of that. After..some period of time, I felt him rustling around in his pockets and heard a door unlock, open, and then be kicked closed loudly. The place smelled familiar, like home, but I didn't open my eyes. A minute or so later the hard muscle of Al's chest and arm was replaced by the cool, soft material of my pillow.

He didn't speak, just laid me down and closed the door, presumably behind him, because I heard footsteps leading out into the hall. A few minutes later they returned and there was a heavy glass _thud_ on my bedside table. "Get some sleep, Tris.." He sounded sad, but I was too far in my own head to care.

I fell asleep still thinking about a husky voice moaning in my ear and snapping commands at me like it was my boss, with the conjured up image of Peter pressing me to that wall instead of his dream girl.

* * *

Enjoy your Petris sin, since my sorry ass can't make these two interact like that without torturing them a lot first!


	10. Metanoia

God guys it's been a whole year and I feel just awful that it's taken me this long to get back into writing, but I'm gonna ride this out and try to keep going until this project is finished! Thanks to everyone for sticking through that crazy long hiatus that I promised wouldn't happen..then

Don't get discouraged by how much of an asshole Peter is, I promise things will get better eventually. They just have to suck a lot

Metanoia

(n.) the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I am, Christina, why else would I be doing it?"

She fixed me with a stern glare, but I returned it with full force. We'd been dancing around this subject for the last few weeks or so - at first I'd tossed it around as a joke, but one look at Al's disapproving face gave me the final determination to go through with it - and now the time had finally come.

She was standing behind me with a pair of scissors and a look of apprehension on her face - the whole situation was a stomach twisting case of anxiety and dread, really - but I wasn't going to cave in. I'd decided months ago that when the time came to join the academy I'd part with my long hair, it wasn't exactly tactical for the physical part of training. I hadn't changed my mind since then and didn't plan to start, now.

"Christina!"

"Oh fine, fine! I'm doing it- but I'm still very against this," She grumbled, looking unhappy at being the one who was stuck cutting away the long blonde locks I'd loved and nurtured for the last twenty years of my life. That was another knot in my stomach. Twenty years. I'd been sixteen when the memory wipe had occurred, when the faceless Bureau stole my life and the lives of everyone around me - it had taken me nearly four years to fight the serum and start remembering - what I couldn't remember on my own, I'd had help with recently.

Nita, a janitor for the academy, came from outside the city where she'd been in her own city experiment. After it had fallen into chaos, she had been allowed to live and work for a branch of government called the Bureau of Genetic Warfare. Apparently they worked on repairing "genetic damage" - pushing towards more individuals with pure genes, whatever that meant.

When she had explained that part to me, I'd thought maybe it was a good thing, but Nita had proof that they were lying, that genetic damage was a scapegoat; she explained how the Bureau wiped out our entire city's memories just to keep the experiment - our _lives_ , our genes _-_ from going into chaos. Only to preserve their experiments, of course.

It took me a while to fully believe it, but after nearly three months of working together, of her sneaking me information and proof from her outside source, Matthew, I found it harder and harder to deny. She'd made me a believer, even if I still didn't fully trust that her end game was really so pure as to save a bunch of people she didn't even know.

Not only had I become sure that she was telling the truth about the memory wipe and the real world, Nita had also convinced me to help formulate and execute a plan to break into the Bureau. Apparently she and her group of radicals had planned to stop them from dropping the serum in the first place, but weren't able to act in time. Since then they'd worked with loyalists, who believed that erasing an entire city's lives was crossing a line, to develop a way to reverse the process. They'd only recently found the right combination to aggressively repopulate our memories, according to Matthew.

I'd been skeptical of that, too, but Nita was living, breathing proof of the reversal being a success. She'd been wiped, too, volunteered herself to be inserted into my experiment. Then, after a few weeks had passed, Matthew had mailed her an aerosol can containing their miracle cure and detailed instructions.. It had taken a few weeks for her to really fully grasp reality and differentiate the implanted memories, but she'd eventually remembered herself, and everything that had happened.

So now it was time to work on a full scale release of the serum reversal. To do that, we had to make a massive supply run - there was just no way Matthew and the radicals could ship every resident in Chicago one of those containers, let alone manage to fill as many as it would take without gathering suspicion. That's where Nita and I came in.

It had slowly become a matter of _when_ rather than how.

The determined _snip_ of scissors next to my ear made me flinch, and caused Christina to cluck her tongue disapprovingly. She'd nearly cut my ear, but it was my own fault. I'd been off in my own world, and hadn't even noticed that she had begun. Whoops.

"Don't move, Tris - I'm not happy about cutting it already, don't make me mess up and have to shave your head. God you'd probably love that, wouldn't you?"

I tried not to laugh, really, but the idea of being bald was equal parts terrifying and hilarious. Maybe it would be enough to get Al to stop giving me those soft eyed looks, but there was no way I could convince Christina to do it and, admittedly, I didn't really think I'd be capable of pulling that particular style off. One look in the mirror showed me two worlds combining. Even though I was technically an adult now, I had remained birdlike; narrow, with eyes that were just on the side of too wide, a sharp nose and slender chin - my neck too skinny.

One half of my head had long locks of hair, well past my chest, I looked young and innocent on that side. The other half had a sheet of blond that ended abruptly at my jawline, following it in a severe line. It didn't make me pretty by any standards, but I did look mature - striking - it gave me harsher angles, and I wasn't going for pretty, anyway. I was going for practical. Christina continued, then, erasing the youthful side of me for good with a few more snips from her scissors.

My hair was still long enough to pull back into a tight bun, but short enough not to weigh me down, or be difficult to quickly clean and put up. It was perfect. I felt my lips curl into a smile without permission as I allowed my eyes to drift up and focus on the dark skinned girl behind me in the mirror. She was absorbed in not ruining my hair, her face set into a serious, focused sort of scowl.

"It looks good, Chris - I really like it," She rolled her eyes and smiled, finally finishing the last few cuts that matched the right side of my head with the left. Only then did she meet my eyes in the mirror, smiling despite her clear distaste for my choice.

"Okay, okay. You do look pretty amazing, but shut up. This is traumatic for me."

"It's my hair, how is that your trauma?"

She just scoffed and flicked the back of my head, making me look forward again. "Just hush up and let me even the lines, okay?"

For a second I thought back to the last time she'd been in this mirror with me - when my face had been painted up and I'd had rational fears of Peter trying something. I swallowed the discomfort that came with thinking about that night, about him. He was nothing, inconsequential and, as my slowly returning memories supplied, just as horrible a person now as he had been before The Wipe. There was still a lot that I didn't really remember, and I often woke up chasing vivid memories that would be gone by breakfast, but a lot of stuff was staying, feeling less surreal as time passed.

The most painful memories by far were of my family. I could remember Caleb, his betrayal and my own, how we abandoned our parents to live lives far from where they could follow. Christina stopped cutting, placing a warm hand on my shoulder, and when I looked at her in the mirror I knew I must have slipped. I'd had some look on my face that didn't fit with the lighthearted mood we'd been sharing just a few minutes ago.

This happened a lot lately, I'd just disappear into my head, sorting through the real world that had been stolen from me and this one. Christina was convinced it was just me taking what happened between Peter and myself, and Al for that matter, poorly.

I let her think that, it was easier than the truth.

"Hey. Are you sure you're..gonna be okay?"

"What do you mean?" I knew what she meant, but I could play dumb - for some reason Christina had come to believe that I actually felt something for Peter, that he'd tricked me into caring about him. That was laughable and entirely wrong, there was no way I felt anything but cold distrust and anger for him. He was a childish bully, nothing more, nothing less.

"Tris. You're going to have to train with him in a few days, and you haven't seen him since-"

"I know that, and it doesn't matter. Peter is just another asshole I'll have to be better than to prove to the higher ups I'm leadership material." I jutted my chin out with a smirk that I didn't at all feel inside. I felt knots twisting and tying together, because even though I've told myself that for weeks now, I can't fight the nervousness.

This was probably the hardest part of it all, pretending my goals were on the academy and furthering my future in this perverse, rewired world the Bureau had made for us. Convincing them that I was still focused and enraptured in it, and not the one they'd erased. I was getting a little better at pretending, just a bit, though.

Christina's lips were pressed into a thin line, but eventually she went back to cutting and nodded, "Alright, just..remember you can talk to me, okay? I'm here for you." I smiled and thanked her, trying not to think about all the things I was hiding from my best friend. I just couldn't tell her, not until it was safe. She'd understand when the time came..hopefully.

* * *

"So the main lab where they keep all of the serums is here," Nita explained, pointing to a map that Tris had seen dozens of times now, she'd already memorized it and knew most of this, too, but she listened anyway, determined to get every detail. To make sure she could walk halls she'd never been in just as easily as she traversed the halls of her college.

"If we don't disable them from this room, everything will be pointless, they'll just send out another memory wipe and our resources are depleted from making this batch, it'll take _years_ to do that again. I've got people on a lot of this - but there's still a fail-safe for the room that we have to deal with before any of this is possible."

"We can't make a move until your training is over - if we go before then, they'll notice you're gone too quickly. You'll be under strict surveillance and study during the next few weeks. It'll be just as hard as what you went through in Dauntless, if not harder." It still felt like a sick joke, how much Nita knew about that. She explained how people watched their lives in the Bureau, like some sort of television program. Rooted for their favorites. It was so wrong.

Thankfully places like bathrooms, Nita had explained, didn't have cameras in them, or any type of recording. The Bureau wasn't interested in that kind of thing, and apparently didn't suspect people like Nita and myself plotting in them. So we usually had short, ten to fifteen minute meetings in bathrooms of restaurants or the academy building now and then, setting up each one to allow for us to pass by one another without ever being suspected of actually interacting.

"I hate all of this, the training and the..pretending. I just want to get that serum and end all of this." I murmured with a huff. I'd had to blow Christina off for this meeting, and it was another lie in a mountain that was piling higher and higher. It filled my stomach with knots, especially since I knew now why she and Al were so good at rooting out the truth. They'd been Candor, taught to sniff out deceit since they were practically babies. That matched with me being a terrible liar..well. It just made all of this more stressful and risky.

Nita gripped my shoulder and looked me in the eye with a serious kind of expression that irritated me. She looked at me like I was a child sometimes and I really, really hated it. Right now I wanted to swat her hand away, be petulant and stubborn and demand that we bring Chris and my friends into this, even though I knew that wasn't possible without getting us found out, and that would mean the Bureau having time to prepare a counter attack.

It just wasn't an option.

"Look, I know how hard this is for you, I'm sorry, but it's just another month. You can do this, Tris. Now, once you're in training.." She looked unsure for a moment, but before I could latch on to that thought her face had fallen back into her usual stern, business-only expression, and she was talking again, "There's going to be an instructor named- he goes by Four. He's intense, and a bit on the scary side, but he's an ally - like you, he's remembering on his own and I've already recruited him."

That surprised me enough to make me interrupt her, I couldn't help it, because this was the first time she'd actually mentioned anyone else remembering without a serum, and she'd said he was like me. "He's Divergent, you mean?" I asked, suddenly feeling anxious - I had memories of Four from before The Wipe, and everything she said was sort of familiar. Not the Divergent part, because he'd been, in my eyes, absolutely Dauntless. So that was news. He'd been harsh and intense during training, right up until the area where my memories are the foggiest. When The Wipe happened.

"Yes. Look - our time is up, and I'm not going to be able to meet you again before you start training, but don't talk about any of this to him, you need to make sure you treat him like you would any other instructor. Don't get friendly." Anita looked uncomfortable, like she was hiding something again. It made my stomach coil in an uncomfortable way - was this how Christina felt when she knew I was lying to her?

"I'll be careful, I promise."

"Be _better_ than careful - convince them. Four will let you know the next time we need to meet - it won't be for a few weeks, I need to get with Matthew and work out supplies and other things, so just focus on being believable- And Tris?."

I nodded, starting for the door, but turned back to look at her when she called my name. She hadn't said in a tense, worried way like the rest, there was almost..mirth in her voice. Nita had a funny look on her face, a smirk with upraised brows, it wasn't something I'd seen on her but a few times. I liked that look, it was comforting compared to the one she'd had earlier when talking about Four.

It made me want to trust her.

"Yeah..?"

"Break Peter's nose for me."

I couldn't help smiling on the way out the door, but I tried to bite it down, knowing it would look suspicious, coming out of a bathroom like that, or just plain weird, but the idea of causing him physical harm, of taking him down a few notches made me feel warm and tingly and _valid._ I managed to wipe the smile off of my face pretty quickly when chunks of a conversation I'd wanted to forget came back to me, unbidden.

 _"_ _You said you couldn't wait to kick my ass in training, which, I mean, that's not going to happen but it's a nice thought."_

 _"_ _I will,"_

 _"_ _You will, what?"_

 _"_ _Beat you, in training I mean. Just because you're bigger doesn't mean you're better."_

 _"_ _We'll see."_

I guess we would, in maybe two or three days I'd find out for sure if my confidence was just a show - in my memories, Peter had beaten me, but I hadn't known anything about fighting then. Now I was a little more trained, I was sure I could beat him.

"We'll see,"

* * *

Today was going to be a lot of firsts for me. It would be the first day we'd be staying in the compound of the academy, the first time Will or Al would see me with my hair cut short (though, to be fair, it would be the first time pretty much anyone in our training group saw it aside from Chris), and, worst of all, would be the first time I'd seen Peter since the night he'd humiliated me. To say I was nervous bordering on anxious would be an understatement. I still hadn't checked my missed messages from him.

It had been three months, there was still a manila envelope sitting at the bottom of my duffel that I didn't have the stomach _or_ heart to read, but I hadn't destroyed it yet, either, and I didn't want to think about what either of those things meant, so there it stayed, tucked away safely. So I was definitely feeling just a little sick to my stomach as Chris and I turned the corner and spotted our friends waiting among a small crowd of people that had been in college with us.

I stood out front of the academy with one bag in my hands, trying not to look as nervous as I felt; I was sure I wouldn't need much of what I packed, but had brought it anyway. A selfish thing, but then, I'd learned that I'm a pretty selfish person. I'd already destroyed my journal and all the files I'd written up on my computer under Nita's command so as to not draw more attention to myself or the memories I'd been getting back.

"Wow," Will puffed out, eyes wide and a big smile on his face, gesturing to my hair as though I didn't know that's what he'd meant, "It looks really cool, Tris, I bet it feels better, too, huh?" He asked, smiling in a supportive sort of way. It wasn't like I'd ever worried that he wouldn't support my choice - he was pretty good about not getting all huffy over things that weren't his own body. All the same I felt a bit of tension ease out of my shoulders.

"Oh yeah, thanks. It really does feel better, my whole head is so light now!"

I nodded with a returned smile that felt easy, natural, though it dried up when Al pouted at me like a kicked puppy with a sour look in his eye, mouth set into a strange sort of frown. Clearly he didn't approve of it, but wasn't brave enough to say something like that. We hadn't spent any time exclusively alone since our argument and he'd been pretty passive since then, just sulking mostly. He was probably hoping I'd have forgiven him by now.

I tried to feel guilty about it, but every time I saw that look I heard him accusing me of calling Peter up for phone sex and got angry all over again. Over the last month or so I'd gotten..not quite memories, but feelings about that night, impressions that scared the hell out of me, so I hadn't picked at that particular case of memory loss, mostly for fear that maybe Al had been right. If he was, it had to have been Peter's fault, that much I knew for sure.

"Yeah, it..it looks nice, Tris" Al finally spoke and I forced a grimace of a smile at him, but I didn't thank him for the compliment. Instead I was the first one to go inside, pushing past the doors and trying not to make it feel like a death sentence. I'd gone and ruined my hopeful mood by thinking about things best left alone. It felt like there was a stone in my stomach, cold and heavy, and it made being greeted by Officer Coulter that much less intimidating. He stood with a stern sort of authority, just like he had what felt like years ago in our classroom.

Except now I was seeing Eric.

The young Dauntless leader who had dangled Christina off of a bridge over the Chasm, who had been particularly cruel and sadistic to me personally. It filled my stomach with hot rage instead of fear, though, and I held on to that. Especially when I heard more footsteps behind us and voices chattering at varying levels of volume. It was easy to imagine I could hear Peter's snide tone, or Molly's terrible laugh, but I was probably imagining those things.

Probably.

There was a slow silence as Eric waited with an irritated expression on his face, arms folded behind his back. Behind him stood a few officers I vaguely recognized from around the Dauntless compound in my old memories, but had yet to meet in this new world, and Four, who I wasn't supposed to know. I tried to feign curiosity, looking around at each of them, but when the stern male with his clinical buzz cut and his narrowed eyes stared at me I felt my stomach twist and had to look away.

In my search to look at something, focus on some faraway object, I noticed Zeke, the Officer I'd done my ride along internship with, standing next to Four. When he and I met eyes, he grinned at me encouragingly, which made me feel just a little bit better.

"Alright, listen up everyone, I'm not going to repeat myself!"

Eric's voice boomed, making me flinch, but I stood taller and focused on him, intent to ignore the way Four was still looking at me like I was some sort of offensive bit of trash in his lobby. Wasn't he supposed to pretend he didn't know me?

"For the next three weeks you're going to be working on rigorous physical training and testing, you'll be living here, as you should already know, and you'll be given a brief tour of the areas you're allowed to enter, as well as a breakdown of our rules here. You'll wait here for your name to be called in blocks from your assigned trainer, they'll escort you to your new living quarters."

Eric's voice was hard and commanding and I found that I hated it as much right now as I could remember hating it during Dauntless training. It made me want to squirm away, but he was looking my way so all I could do was square my shoulders and meet his cold eyes without an ounce of fear. He smirked and looked away to his next target and it felt a bit like I'd passed some kind of unspoken test.

"Less than half of you are going to make it through this portion of your training, so I'm going to warn you right now. If you're too weak, don't waste our time, go ahead and leave - because we aren't going to go easy on any single one of you,"

Eric's eyes found mine again as he said this and I felt anger boiling to the surface. I managed to scowl at him, and he seemed amused by that, chuckled even, before he took a step back and dropped his hands to his sides.

"Welcome to the Academy, recruits. We'll be watching, train hard and don't disappoint me!"

It took two entire blocks of names to be called before I heard my own, and..surprisingly, Four hadn't been assigned to me. Somewhere inside I felt a bit of relief there, I didn't like the way he kept staring me down. It made me feel like I'd done something wrong, when I clearly hadn't.

When Zeke called out Peter's name I made it a point to look anywhere but in the direction of the slowly growing group standing around waiting to see who else they roomed with. I could feel his eyes on me, but didn't do a thing to acknowledge it. There was a bit of disappointment and pity in me for someone as nice as Zeke being stuck with someone as terrible as Peter. Christina leaned into me, brushing shoulders and murmured quietly.

"He's staring you down, like, kinda hardcore.."

"Good for him."

"Christina Murillio,"

She groaned and bumped my arm with a long suffering sigh, but still made the walk. I followed her with my eyes, watching her and nothing else so I didn't run the risk of looking at him. I wouldn't give him the pleasure of my attention, not until I absolutely had to, anyway.

When my name was called it wasn't really a surprise, but it twisted in my stomach all the same. Of course my luck would run out after not being paired with Four - but hey, at least I had Christina, and she was where I made the bee-line towards.

I managed to look at my future trainer with what I hoped was a friendly smile, but that meant my eyes had to graze over Peter's face - I didn't catch a single detail in the exchange, but it felt like I swallowed a handful of ice all the same. Zeke grinned and gave me a thumbs up as I walked over to stand with Chris, feeling a small bit of relief at the realization that I was happy to have him as a trainer - someone friendly and reliable.

At that point I had no other choice but to turn around and face the room I'd been ignoring, which meant looking Drew in the eye when his name was called. The smug bastard kissed the air in my direction and I had to ball my hands into fists to keep from lunging at him. Chris put a hand on my wrist and squeezed gently, and I felt a wave of gratitude for her. She was probably going to be the only thing that kept me from losing my mind for the next month.

Once our group was complete, Zeke looked down at the clipboard in his hand with that same, friendly smile. It was still as unnerving now as it had been when I'd interned that he was so naturally, comfortably happy and friendly. Downright odd. I didn't have any memories of him from Dauntless, but he was undoubtedly one of them- one of _us_.

"Alright guys, I'm Zeke, I'll be your trainer through the next month or so - let's get the rules done with first, okay?" It was a rhetorical question, but I heard Peter scoff all the same, like he was trying not to say something snarky. That familiar sense of blood boiling started up, but instead of letting it happen, I squeezed my fists tighter until I felt the painful bite of nails against my palms. It grounded me enough to focus.

"Pretty basic stuff, but gotta go through it anyway," Zeke droned on like he'd rather be doing anything else, "No leaving the compound during training days, no fighting with your fellow trainees outside of sanctioned brawls, no food in your dorms," And so on and so forth, there were a surprising number of rules, actually, and at the end he had each of us sign a form saying that we agreed to the mandates under penalty of removal from the program.

Next was a brief tour, we'd all seen the place before, but not where we'd be staying. There was a small area with washers and dryers, a supply closet full of bathroom amenities, a cafeteria, and then the bathrooms themselves that were, thankfully, not unisex.

I noticed things that I probably wouldn't have, if it weren't for knowing about The Wipe, like how supposedly all the other officers had gone through this program before, and it was a normal, routine thing, but every part of the compound looked new, barely used. It had the wear and tear of four years, not fifteen or twenty like it should have looked.

The whole time we were being shown around, I could feel eyes on me, and once someone grabbed for my arm, but I brushed past them and walked up to Zeke directly to ask him a meaningless question about the supply closet. He didn't seem to mind one bit, actually he seemed sort of pleased to have someone ask him questions.

Clearly I couldn't avoid Peter forever, but for now I was fine with putting it off for as long as possible. Christina was a pretty good buffer through it all. I reminded myself to thank her personally when I wasn't so focused on ignoring my surroundings entirely. Well, not entirely. I gave Zeke and the halls we walked my full attention.

Eventually we made it to the actual dorms, which were basically just a long, open room with twelve bunk beds that didn't look particularly comfortable, but at the very least seemed sturdy. Zeke stopped here and folded his arms behind his back, addressing the group of them as a whole.

"This is your dorm, you're only to sleep here, no sneaking into the others - and trust me, we'll know," He seemed to look directly at Christina with a wicked sort of smirk, but she simply smiled back like she was innocent. I tried not to laugh, hiding it in a quiet cough, instead.

"You'll be expected to keep this area neat and organized, we'll have inspections at random, now get settled in, you're free to familiarize yourself with the compound for the next half hour, after that you'll start your first training session, so I'll see you then!"

I stormed to a bunk in the far corner, throwing my bag on the top just as Christina tossed hers on the bottom. There weren't any other bunks around it for a good few feet, but the next closest one was occupied almost as soon as mine had been, by Peter and Drew. I hadn't meant to look, but, well, I wanted to see who I'd be neighbored with and that's how I met Peter's eyes. He scowled at me, and I scowled right back. I managed to not drop my expression, even when I heard Drew making obscene kissing noises.

Meeting Peter's eyes didn't feel one bit like I'd touched an exposed wire, my stomach definitely wasn't twisting into knots and I absolutely was not thinking of going over there and punching him in his stupid face. Finally I tore my eyes away and turned my entire body away from them, nothing good would come from letting those two rile me up. Chris looked at me with a supportive kind of smile and looped her arm through mine.

"Let's go check out the cafeteria, maybe we can grab a snack before training,"

As we left, Peter's voice rang out, not overly loud, but loud enough for me to hear, and it took everything in me not to turn around and attack him. Chris' arm tightened around mine and she patted the back of my hand gently.

"Keep running, Prior. Just like the little kid you are."

This was going to be the longest month of my entire life.

* * *

Alright! So we're back in the swing, things are kicking off. Next chapter will include a fair bit of physical violence and blood, so be ready for the sparring to begin!

As always I appreciate your comments and support and I'm excited to hear any ideas you might have about where this is going. Nothing is set in stone~

I'm cautiously hopeful about having another chapter up in a week or so, but don't hold me to that. Super psyched to be back at this again and to have you all here for the ride.


	11. Truculent

Truculent

(adj.) overly aggressive, eager to fight

* * *

The cafeteria was a disappointing endeavor since we could only eat during scheduled times, but it worked to help me escape from Peter. I recoiled at the thought of _escape_. At the first sign of conflict I'd turned tail and ran, just like he'd said. I didn't want to run or hide or be meek, anymore, that wasn't a reputation I was eager to keep. I wanted to impose on him, make sure he saw that I was an immovable object that he couldn't just trample and destroy. I'd let that happen too much already.

"Tris?"

Chris was looking at me like I'd just grown a second head, which I was pretty sure wasn't the case, so I must have done something to cause her sudden attention. I'd gotten that look enough times to realize I'd zoned out again. She was worried, she'd been talking and I wasn't even paying attention. Oops. I bit the inside of my cheek and met her eyes, the ones narrowed in some sort of silent question.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Tris..are you..I mean, are you absolutely sure it's a good idea for you to do this in the same class as Peter?"

We'd had this conversation before. Every time I had to convince her that I was strong enough to handle myself, it chipped away a little more of my patience. Chris still thought I was weak, in need of protection; I set my jaw in a determined clench that made her huff.

"I'm just saying, there's no shame in waiting until the next round of training in six months. You could..I don't know, go visit your family or something? Take a break, I mean you've earned that much." She knew that wasn't possible, I didn't have that sort of clearance, but it was nice of her to offer me a reasonable out that didn't sound like I was a coward. I shook my head and huffed out a laugh that was severely lacking in any mirth or humor.

"I'm not running, Christina. I'm done letting anyone dictate what I can and cannot do, especially him. Peter neither owns nor controls me."

"Okay! You're a bad ass, independent woman who doesn't take anyone's shit, we get it," She joked, which stung at the way she made the sentence seem _laughable_ , but I let her keep talking all the same because, deep down, I knew she meant well. She just didn't _understand_. "But you just spent the last ten minutes in la la land, and you've been doing that a lot lately. I'm worried, Tris."

Oh no. She pulled out the big guns, putting both hands on my shoulders and staring me down in a way that felt more like my soul was being probed. I'd only seen Chris do this a few times, but it always ended with her getting the truth. I swallowed hard. Lying would be impossible, even if I were good at it. It's not like I _wanted_ to lie to her, to not tell her why my head was in the clouds, really. Quite the opposite, actually. It burned with shame every time she assumed - every time I let her believe - that I was thinking about Peter instead of the real issues going on, but it was the best way.

"What's going on with you? I mean, is it just..Peter? Is it stress about the training, because I mean I know you're small but you're fast, so it's not like you can't use that. Just..talk to me, I want to help."

I pinched my lips into a tight line, trying to focus on not making any tell-tale moves that would immediately out me for the dirty liar I was. One deep breath later, filled with silence, and she was cocking her head to the side, clearly impatient.

"Tris..I'm your friend, you can talk to me, you know that."

I hated how she said my name like that. Like I was some kid who needed to be coddled and protected. It made my face flush. Why did everyone have to treat me that way? Memories of being compared to a little girl, being told I was a child, over and over again, made my gut twist and coil into a nasty emotion I couldn't quite name.

"I'm fine, Christina, I'm not backing down and I'm not going to let Peter take this from me," All of that was true, vehemently so, and she seemed marginally satisfied by what I'd said, but still didn't back down. Of course not, she was headstrong and determined, and she felt that she'd failed me by sending me out with Peter that first time - so of course she wasn't going to make this easy for me.

"Do you, I mean, do you..care about him, is that what's making it so hard on you?"

The laugh that passed my lips was nasty, and I felt a bit of shame in just how cold the noise was, I hadn't exactly meant for that to come out _that_ harsh. I placed a hand over hers, and raised my brows. That seemed to make her feel a little better; the grip on my shoulders loosened while at the same time the pinch between her brows eased up. I raised a finger and poked at the crinkle of skin, the physical contact still made me feel uneasy, I didn't absently touch people like she did, but it felt like a good thing to do.

"I care about beating him, Chris, that's it. Now stop that, you look way too much like Will when you make that face."

Almost as soon as the words passed my lips I heard a jingle of laughter from my right and Christina's hands were off of me entirely, turning to face Will with a smile. He mirrored it, but shot me a look with upraised brows.

"And what's so wrong with looking like me?"

I smirked, watching Christina bridge the gap between them to wrap her arms around his waist and plant a kiss on his cheek. Will turned pink at the ears, but otherwise seemed pleased at the attention, even stopping to press his lips to her forehead. I felt a small twinge of discomfort and looked off to the side. It was just my aversion to public affection, nothing more.

"Mm. Absolutely nothing, though I'd hate to lose my good looks all the same," Christina practically purred, ripping an eye roll out of me. Al was pretending to gag, which, okay, I laughed a little, but I still didn't meet his eyes. I wasn't ready to make things between us okay.

Chris and Will were disgustingly adorable, honestly, but it made me happy that at least they had their lives together. In all this horrible stuff happening, it was nice to see one genuinely good thing in my life. Two of my best friends were happy, and if that didn't give me something to smile about, nothing would. Focusing on my friends made my heart feel a little less heavy and I managed to even feel better.

So of course the trio of nightmares chose that moment to traipse into the room as though they owned it.

Molly had her arms looped around Peter's bicep and Drew had his hands in his pockets with a look of practiced boredom on his face. I wasn't going to let them ruin the happy, bubbly feeling in my chest. Or, at least, I didn't plan on it, until Molly spotted me and sneered, raising her fingers in a mock camera and miming taking a shot. That's when I started to take deep breaths.

"Tris are you-? Oh, crap."

A warm hand found its way to my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and I breathed heavily through my nose. I wasn't angry, I was with my friends, we were happy, having a good time, even. I was _fine_. Somewhere in the back of my head a voice was telling me to look somewhere else, that nothing good could come from this, but it was like watching a train wreck. I couldn't pull my eyes away, even when I heard the sound of Christina saying my name.

Slowly, purposefully, Molly leaned up a few inches, eyes on me, and pressed a kiss to Peter's cheek, nearly the corner of his mouth. That didn't bother me, if anyone in the world was good for someone as slimy as Peter it would be her, so I didn't have any reason care about the kiss. I _didn't_ care about it, but the fact that she thought I did, that she was doing it to rile me up, now _that_ pissed me off. He glanced down at her and grinned, but I didn't miss the way his eye flitted to the corner. To me. Right before he leaned in to whisper something in her ear that made her smile split into a wide grin.I felt a twist in my gut that was absolutely not jealousy.

Hatred, that's what it was. Absolute, soul rending hatred.

I barely even registered Christina calling after me as I turned and left the cafeteria, but Molly and Drew's laughter followed me like they were right in my ear, reverberating in my skull and giving me a very strong urge to punch things. So I followed my feet and found myself in the practice room Zeke had shown us earlier. A few of the trainers were hanging around chatting on the other side of the room where a row of lockers with benches sat, but I didn't try and talk to any of them.

Instead I made a beeline for the punching bags and took my stance. As my knees bent and locked into place, and I prepared to draw a fist back, a memory came unbidden of a large, warm hand pressed to my abdomen. Without meaning to, my eyes sought out Four all the way across the room, leaning into one of the lockers with his arms crossed. Zeke was talking to him animatedly, hands flailing and all, but Four wasn't watching. He was staring me down with an expression I couldn't decipher. Whatever it was, though, it couldn't be good.

When I'd been staring for a solid few seconds, one of his brows rose and he tilted his head marginally, gesturing in the direction of my chosen punching bag with his chin as though to tell me to get to it, already. I shook my head and looked away, glaring at the leather bag in front of me. He was right, I wasn't here to have stare-offs with strange, brooding trainers - even if he was the only other person I knew who could remember the erased world and all I wanted to do was talk to him about it - I was here to blow off steam.

That's exactly what I did.

The punches came easily, my knuckles stung a bit at the contact - I knew they would be raw and bruised, it was just a fact of life - but each hit made me feel better. I had done this back in Dauntless, but that had been four years ago; four years of letting my muscles soften and my callouses fade. I'd have to earn them all again, but the difference this time was that I knew what it felt like to go through it it, and what I was capable of. I didn't let the twinges of pain stop me.

As the time ticked down for our first training session, a few people from my group appeared, but I didn't stop throwing punches. Uriah and Lynn didn't waste any time in following my lead, finding their own area to warm up, but others preferred to stand around and chat. I spotted Chris come in, but she didn't approach me. It wasn't until I heard Eric's voice that I stopped with a feeling like ice in my veins. I'd have to eventually get used to that, wouldn't I?

"As much as I appreciate the..enthusiasm from you three, get back over here with the rest of your groups, you're gonna want to save your energy today."

I felt a twinge of irritation, but found my way over to Christina who was looking at me with upraised brows and a half smile. As we stood there, waiting for the rest of the group to line up, I examined my knuckles. They were red, but not raw, not yet. Chris shook me out of my reverie by asked exactly what I'd been thinking,

"I thought Zeke was our trainer? What's Tall-Dark-and-Scary doing here?" I appreciated that she didn't ask about Peter, or me storming out. Those weren't things I felt like thinking about, let alone discussing.

"No idea. Maybe he wants to spook everyone good on the first day or something?"

"I think it's working," Will piped up to my right, startling me. It was their group and ours, but I didn't see anyone else, so I could only assume the other two groups would be training together on a different interval or something. A bit like how the Dauntless born had been separate from the transfers, but back then there had only been nine of us, and these two groups made it closer to fourteen or fifteen. Zeke was standing close by with Four, arms crossed and his usual smile was nowhere to be found. Maybe he didn't like Eric, either.

When the clock in the back landed on 9:30 exactly, Eric straightened up and folded his arms behind his back again, looking between the trainees with an expression that I could only interpret as disappointment. That wasn't exactly fair, he hadn't even seen what any of us were capable of, but had already judged us disappointing. I tried not to scowl. From what I remembered, Eric wasn't exactly my idea of _fair_ anyway.

"Alright, in case it wasn't clear, both Zeke and Four's groups will be training together. Later you will swap between Laura and Shauna's, but for now the people in this room are the ones you're competing against. Today you're going to show me what you're capable of. At the end of the combat stage training in three weeks, you'll show me again, and I expect to be impressed then. You're going to spar against myself, Zeke, or Four, and each of us will judge you accordingly."

Almost immediately murmuring broke out as people digested the fact that, not only were we expected to fight so soon, but against the practiced officers meant to train us. Eric's brow twitched with barely contained irritation, so I made it a point to stare straight forward with my mouth set into a thin line, even as Christina mumbled in shock.

"We have to spar with _them_? They're basically sentient sacks of muscle.."

"Enough!" Eric barked, and if I hadn't predicted the outburst, I might have jumped. As it were, I only felt Chris tense to my left, but managed to stay immobile. I heard Molly mutter loudly about how unfair this was, and from the look on his face, Eric had, too.

"Unfair?" The trainees all separated without a moment's hesitation as the brooding officer stormed towards the general direction her complaint had come from. I turned to watch with barely concealed amusement. When Eric got to Molly she sneered at him, to her credit, rather than cowering. "Was that you?" He asked darkly, to which she nodded, keeping her jaw jutted up defiantly. Molly Atwood could be called many unpleasant things, but a coward wasn't among them. I could see Drew and Peter bristling as Eric fixed her with a wide smirk,

"It would be _unfair_ to throw you out into the field to practice against real criminals with real weapons. Aren't you confident in your own abilities, recruit? Or are you gunning for a safe, cosy little desk job?"

She scowled and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to make herself look bigger. It was hard not to notice how Drew shuffled closer to her, pressing his shoulder against hers, and then Peter followed suit on the other side. It made me want to look away, but I didn't. This was a lesson, and I wanted to see how Eric handled those now. There wasn't a chasm to hang her over, and this wasn't Dauntless - if he threw her out she could just come back in six months' time.

"I've just spent the last four years with the rest of these idiots, learning out of books and doing paperwork, not hand to hand combat, it's not fair to test us without teaching us anything, first!" Molly might have thought her confidence was winning points, but from the way Eric's hand tightened behind his back and his eyebrows pushed together, she was doing everything wrong.

"Well these _idiots_ seem pretty content to show me what they've got instead of whining like some petulant child. If you want the kiddie bumpers on, then fine. You'll spar with another recruit." He turned and stared into the crowd, eyes finding me and staying. Damn. This was a little too familiar, but then, this version of Molly probably didn't remember how to fight. Maybe.

"How about her? She's pretty scrawny, that feel a little more fair, you out-sizing her?" Molly smirked, clearly pleased with who he'd picked. Maybe she felt like it would be easy to take me down, or maybe she just wanted to finish what we'd started in front of my apartment. I don't know what possessed me to say it, but I couldn't stop the words from spilling out of my mouth.

"I don't want to fight her - you said we're fighting trainers today, put me up against one of you." And as though I thought I could redeem speaking up against him, I immediately tacked on a sharp, "Please. Sir," at the end. His nostrils flared, and it was clear that having not one, but two defiant recruits wasn't his idea of a good start. After a few heartbeats, he managed to reign in his features until that smirk was back. The one that turned my blood to ice.

I'd messed up, badly.

"Alright, recruit. If you're so eager to get your ass handed to you," And just like that he was pulling off his uniform jacket, leaving just the white t-shirt below that was tucked immaculately into his pants. "You can be the first one to go up against me." There was a lot of muscle there, more than I expected, and all I could think was how much this was going to hurt. Instead of saying that, though, I tilted my chin up and met his eyes.

"Gladly."

Eric laughed, a short bark of noise that was entirely unpleasant and every bit as cruel as the one from my memories. He shot a look back at Molly, who was a shade of red that I'd yet to see on her, staring back at him with her mouth twisted into a hard scowl.

"I don't want to hear the words 'unfair' from you, again. If a girl half your size is confident enough to go up against me, you shouldn't have any problem."

Across the room it looked like Four was about to walk over, but Zeke grabbed his shoulder with a subtle shake of his head. I schooled my face into what I hoped was a look of confidence, turning away from Eric and walking towards the mat stretched out in the floor where he'd been standing earlier.

He came to stand across from me, mouth set into a feral sort of grin, it was terrifying how much he was enjoying his little display of power.

"You're going to regret your bravery, recruit."

"We'll see,"

With a hiss through his teeth Eric straightened and waved over Zeke and Four, instructing them to be watching, "Keep an eye on how quick she goes down, we'll have to compare it later." The words sent a spark of irritation through me, so I did all I could think to do - I got into a defensive stance, and waited for him to lunge. He would, I knew he would, but I had no idea how _quick_ he would be.

Eric zipped in and his fist connected with my forearm, I barely managed to block him, but it felt like I'd been hit with a metal rod and not someone's fist. He had me retreating, giving him ground as his fists came at me, swinging towards my head and my stomach in intervals. Most of them hit and stung, but a fair bit of them I actually managed to block. I remembered being told I was fast, to use that to my advantage, but couldn't see how I'd be able to do something like that when he was fast, too. My body was singing with pain, but I managed to..mostly stay focused.

I feigned a hit to his left and when he blocked that, threw my leg up to smack him solidly in the side of his head - or, at least, that's what I'd aimed on doing, but apparently he'd read into it because instead of striking at his ear, I hit the solid flat of his palm. Eric's fingers wrapped around my leg and _yanked_ , taking me off of my feet and all the wind wooshed out of my lungs the moment my back hit the mat.

I felt a sharp pain in my hip, like someone had stabbed me with a hot knife, but I did my best to ignore it. Instead of staying down, I flipped and rose up onto my knee, rolling when he threw his leg at me. Pain flared at my hip in a constant, pulsing ache.

Back on my feet again, I jabbed, managing to box his ear and hit his cheekbone, but the third punch glanced off of his forearm harmlessly. My hands were throbbing in time to my heartbeat. He followed up his block with a hard elbow to my ribs that had me crying out, then a punch that hit me hard across the bridge of my nose. I retreated a few steps back, glaring at him as sweat beaded my forehead. He laughed, not even sounding winded, as hot blood began to ooze down my chin.

"I'm impressed, newbie. I expected to have you on the mat by now."

"You said it yourself," Unlike Eric, I was very much out of breath, so my voice came out choppy. With the brief reprieve he was giving me, I quickly wiped at the blood on my face with the back of my hand, smearing it on my pants, "I'm small. Small girl has to know how to defend herself in this profession," I smirked back at him, feeling strangely comfortable, in control. Without really thinking, I'd begun bouncing on the balls of my feet, ready to move even as each bounce sent a jolt of pain up my leg, but I was getting used to that.

He lunged again, but I managed to read it this time in the coil of his muscles, so I side-stepped and landed a hard hit into his back, right where the kidney would be. It didn't look like the strike hurt him much, but it had been a strike all the same and I felt proud of that fact. Thinking he'd take a moment to recover, I relaxed my stance.

That was my mistake. He came back around quick as lightning, going low and sweeping my legs out from under me. My shoulders smacked the mat while I was winded for the second time, wheezing for breath. Eric didn't allow me time to recover like he had the first time. Before I could even consider getting back up, he was hovering over me, straddling my stomach. It was like having a car sitting on my chest and my punches did nothing, he managed to catch one forearm, then the other, crossing and pinning them against my chest in an uncomfortably painful position.

"Time?"

"Two minutes," It was the first time I'd heard Four speak outside of my memories, and it made me glance up at him involuntarily. The look on his face was tight and uncomfortable - the moment we locked eyes he glanced away with a harder frown, if possible. I looked back up to Eric, who was just grinning at me, brows upraised. The only way I could tell I'd had any effect on him at all was the faint beads of sweat on his temples and the way his chest rose and fell just a little quicker than it'd been doing before the fight. Me, on the other hand, I was panting and sweating, and I knew I'd have quite a few bruises popping up in the next day or so.

"Not bad for a twig." He hummed, getting back to his feet and holding a hand out for me. I took it, pulling myself up rather than allowing him to. My forearms throbbed from the pressure he'd applied and I could still feel his weight crushing my chest, but I was proud all the same. This was a much better start than I'd ever had back in Dauntless. Eric had a hand on my shoulder, which I longed to squirm out from under, but I managed to ignore it.

When I turned back to the training groups I noticed a few things. Christina and Will were wide eyed, Al was sour faced, and Peter had made it to the front of the group, presumably to watch. Sadistic prick. Molly and Drew were behind him looking equal parts surprised (Drew) and irritated (Molly), but Peter, the was the one I couldn't quite figure out.

The look on his face was..strange. It might have been jealousy. His nostrils were flared and his lips were white with how hard he was pressing them together, hands balled into fists at his sides. For a moment I thought back to the night I'd been in his and Will's apartment, when he'd had my forearm in a vice grip. I thought of the fight we'd had in Dauntless, of his ruthless violence.

He was likely bitter that I'd gotten the first fight in and made a good impression. I'd set the bar, and I'm sure it burned him up that I hadn't gone down in under a minute, like everyone expected me to. The fact that he had any type of expression on his face that wasn't smug filled me with a buzzing sense of pride. _Beat that_ , I thought, grinning, but I didn't move from Eric, he hadn't dismissed me, after all.

"You can sit back and watch the others fight, you're done for now, Twig." The nickname wiped my grin off and replaced it with a scowl, but I nodded without complaint. Eric gave my shoulder a none-too-gentle squeeze and murmured under his breath, "Don't make it a habit to undermine me, or I'll do more than twinge your leg next time" That reminded me dangerously of what he was capable of.

I bit the inside of my cheek and responded, just as quiet as he'd been, "I wouldn't dream of it, sir." That must have been good enough because he laughed and patted me on the back, sending me off with nothing more than a quick, "Smart girl. I'll have to keep my eye on you." It sent a chill through me - he'd said those words before, and they'd been a threat, then. I wasn't sure if they were now, and I didn't want to find out.

I glanced at the faces in front of me, noting that Al looked jealous now, too, and that was just ridiculous, so I opted to ignore him and went to stand with Chris, who was still looking at me like I'd told her I liked playing dress up. At least Peter's jealousy was understandably power hungry and selfish. Al was probably annoyed that I wasn't some damsel he could save. He wasn't doing himself any favors on getting back in my good graces.

"Holy shit, Tris!" She gasped, squeezing my arms while clearly holding back from jumping around. For that I was grateful. "Where did you learn to fight like that? You were bad ass." I just laughed and rubbed the back of my neck, which turned out to be covered in sweat, too. While I thought up a good answer, my hands mechanically reached up to release the tight bun at the top of my head, gathering all my hair up and back into a neater one. Being knocked to the mat had loosed quite a few strands and it itched to feel them sticking to my skin.

"Like I said to Officer Coulter, a girl's got to know how to defend herself," I lied, but not technically, because that _was_ what I'd told him. It soured my good mood to realize I was starting to learn how to lie a lot better. I didn't like that one bit.

After my fight, I watched dozens more, most people were on the mat and done in a minute or less. The only few who lasted as long as I had were Christina, Peter and Marlene. None of them beat my time, but it had been close for a few. I managed to keep a thirty second lead on the best of them, and it pleased me more than I cared to admit that Peter barely even managed to stay on his feet for more than a minute and fifteen seconds against Zeke.

Maybe the academy wouldn't be half bad, after all.

* * *

Most of the day passed in a blur of exhaustion.

Once all the sparring had finished, and the times had been marked down - along with various other notes that we weren't allowed to read - we'd had to run laps around the compound, followed by a quick example of what our exercise regime would look like, starting tomorrow. At lunch time we'd all gathered in the cafeteria, haggard and worn down to the point conversation hadn't even been a possibility, but I'd noticed Peter and Co. huddled together, shooting me nasty looks over their meals. That didn't bode well.

After that we'd been introduced to the obstacle course we'd be expected to complete by the end of our training. It was brutal. We spent half an hour or so working through it, just familiarizing ourselves, before Zeke and Four had rounded us all up, leading us back to the training room. Eric was there again, which made me squirm with discomfort. If he was around, it wasn't going to be for a good reason.

"Alright, now. You've all seen what it's like to spar with someone practiced, so now you'll be going against one another." This was starting to feel a lot like Dauntless training.

"Once again, you'll be watched and recorded. The fight ends when you've pinned your opponent and they're unable to escape, or they give up." At least the academy allowed their opponent to concede, though the look on Eric's face spoke volumes on how he felt about the second option. That made this feel just a little less brutal. Behind Eric was something I recognized without even trying, though the last time I'd seen one, it had been drawn up on an old chalk board.

The last names of everyone in Zeke and Four's group had been written up on a white board, beneath it were boxes that started out with seven rows, but lost a box on each new row until there was only one at the very bottom. Names were matched up in the top boxes, showing who would be fighting who today. It turned out each group had exactly seven people, because there were no odd names left out of the pairs.

It wasn't really surprising that I'd been paired off with Molly. Apparently Eric hadn't been kidding about that. I wasn't sure if I felt disappointed or eager - I wanted to hurt her, and that scared me enough that I didn't want to fight her at all. I caught Eric's eye after looking at the board, and he smirked at me. Was that pride in his eyes? I didn't much care for whatever it was, so I looked at Zeke, instead. He offered another supportive thumb's up, which I couldn't help smiling at.

"As you can see behind me, your names have been paired off with your partners, the winners of each sparring match will move on to the next round, and so on, until we've got the final two. This is something we'll only be doing twice this week, then we'll give you a day to learn basic self defense tactics," His lip curled and I noticed that Eric made it a point to look at Molly, "After that, fights will be held every other morning of training, until the end of the combat phase."

I'd gone back to fully watching Eric, not wanting to seem like I wasn't paying attention. He didn't look at me this time, so that was a good start. Instead, he surveyed the group as though looking for anyone who felt the need to argue with him on any of this. When no one spoke up, he continued.

"Today is just to test your skills, so you won't be judged as harshly as you will be next time. Three fights will go on at a time, over-watched by myself and your trainers, so the first three groups on the board, get up here and pair off."

Eric looked entirely too excited to watch this happen. I was disappointed to find out that Molly and I would be going last, but that meant I got to watch and see what everyone else was like, first, so it wasn't all bad. Christina was paired off against Lynn, Drew with Al and Uriah with a guy I didn't recognize, but on the board he was listed as Cabello. He must have been a Dauntless born. It ended with Lynn, Al and Uriah as the winners.

A lot of the fights were similar, uncertain jabs and strikes, sloppy postures, and easy pins. It took a lot less time than I'd have expected to watch the next group go up. Peter was fighting some girl listed as Rolland and won easily, while Will and Marlene paired off with Marlene just barely winning. The last two were people I vaguely recognized but didn't really feel the need to look too closely at, Laghari and Denton. It hit me in the middle of all the fighting what had felt off - the lack of Edward and Myra, but I had absolutely no idea where they were in this new world.

Eventually it came down to Molly and I. After fighting Eric, I wasn't even a little anxious. Even if Molly could fight, I could, too. The first time she'd beaten me, I'd had the disadvantage of knowing nothing, and not necessarily wanting to strike her. This time I had knowledge under my belt, and I wasn't concerned about hurting her one little bit, which should have bothered me more than it did. We walked up to the mat that was probably covered in sweat and definitely spattered with a bit of blood.

I took a glance around, noticing that Four looked bored, but Zeke seemed genuinely interested, though none of them could match the manic look of pleasure on Eric's face. He looked like a cat who'd caught its mouse, playing with it rather than being kind enough to kill the thing. It sent a shudder down my spine, and I suddenly felt a little like I was playing into his hands.

Molly smirked and put her arms up in a sloppy defense, "You shaking in your boots, Prior?" Somehow she managed to make my own name sound like an insult, but I just scowled at her, putting my own fists up in response. The correct way. "Maybe we can get Drew to take another picture, put it with the first one, wouldn't that be sweet?"

"Quit talking and fight me," I grunted, lunging forward to jab at her face. She didn't back up, but she also didn't block very well, the first hit deflected off of her arm, but the next one allowed for me to hit her in the jaw, which sent a hot wave of pain through my knuckles, but the noise she made was absolutely worth it. After that she formed a wall with her forearms over her face, which freed up her torso.

I went straight for her open spot, next, landing a hard punch to her stomach, which was a level of cathartic that I shouldn't have enjoyed. She sounded like she was trying to suck all of the air out of the room before a growl of frustration escaped and her guard dropped entirely. Molly stepped forward and I stepped back, ducking her first wide swing, but missing the next. Even if she wasn't practiced, it hurt when her knuckles bashed into the side of my head. I retreated a few more steps, bouncing on the balls of my feet.

As Molly stepped up, ready to strike again, I coiled my muscles and moved first, playing the same feint trick I'd done with Eric. The difference was that she didn't predict the kick like he had, so my foot connected easily with the side of her head, sending her staggering as she tried to get her bearings. I took advantage of her moment of weakness to dig in a solid punch right around where the diaphragm was, causing a sharp, wheezing noise to escape her lips. I liked that sound a lot more than anything I'd ever heard her say.

She struck out blindly, trying to land a hit in a flurry of messy punches, most of which I blocked, but even the ones that hit didn't hurt nearly as much as Eric's had, though my slowly forming bruises twinged at being struck all the same. Molly gave chase, but I didn't give her much ground before I tried what Eric had done, dropping low and sweeping her legs from beneath her. Just like I had, Molly went down, crying out and gasping as her back smacked the mat, taking her breath in the process.

I didn't waste any time planting myself on her stomach, grabbing both arms to pin them to the mat by either side of her head. Molly glared up at me through her bangs, face red and eyes full of murder. I was going to pay for this, but the victory felt good, so I enjoyed it. Maybe I shouldn't have, but the words were out of my mouth with a grin before I could take them back,

"Still want Drew to take a picture?"

"Get off of me!"

When I let go of her, I sprang up quickly, knowing she'd likely lash out. Her elbow struck my hip, which stung, but that was all that happened before she brushed her bangs away and scowled at me. Molly stood straight and kept her dignity intact, storming right over to Peter and Drew.

My stomach dropped.

Peter was looking right at me. I'd barely even broken a sweat, but the look on his face made me feel suddenly warm. I didn't enjoy the sensation, nor that weird expression. It looked like pride..or maybe hunger. Neither of those were options I cared to think about, so I scowled and looked away from him, opting to hurry over to my friends instead.

When I looked his way, Eric's expression wasn't any more comforting. If anything it was worse. He grinned at me, clearly impressed, which didn't feel good at all.

Zeke walked up to the board and scribbled down names in the next rows. It was Lynn against Peter, which filled my chest with relief, Al vs. the one that had won between the two Dauntless born I hadn't recognized, last name Laghari, Uriah and Marlene against one another and that left..me. With no one to fight.

These fights lasted a little bit longer and were way harsher than the previous ones. Blood spilled faster, and the punches were much more brutal, calculated. Like people were getting the hang of it, or maybe operating on muscle memory. Al ended up with a cut above his left eyebrow, losing to Laghari, who now had a busted lower lip to show for it.

Al seemed kind of relieved to have lost, which didn't surprise me. Then there was Lynn and Peter. Zeke had to step in when Peter had Lynn's arm behind her back, twisted to the point he was close to breaking it. A few moves later, with Lynn going easy on her injured arm, Peter had pinned her, face down with her arms behind her. She headbutted him, but not hard enough to draw blood. He won all the same, which made my stomach twist. That raised the chances of us fighting.

I hated the way he looked blissed out, like fighting was his own personal drug. There was blood specked on his face from when Lynn had spit it out at him. It blended well with his freckles, which was a weirdly morbid thought that had me staring at my feet.

Marlene and Uriah were less brutal, but that didn't mean they went easy on one another. It was a close call, at one point Uriah had Marlene pinned, but she'd twisted them around so she had him down on the mat. In the end Marlene had won, but only barely. Neither had drawn blood, but from the number of hits they'd taken, the pair would be nicely bruised. So that left Laghari, Peter, and Marlene.

I wasn't really eager to fight any of them, but I stood at the mat and waited all the same as Zeke and Eric stood by the board and looked over their notes. I don't know why I'd even tried to hope for a fight against Marlene, or even Laghari - of course it would end up being against Peter. Peter, with his brutal fighting style and ruthless attitude. I felt cold. The taunts from a lifetime ago rose to the surface, even if Peter wasn't actually saying anything as he got to the mat, Marlene's blood smeared across his cheek, knuckles busted open. He looked feral.

 _"You okay there, Stiff? You look like you're about to cry, I might go easy on you if you cry."_

"Come on, Stiff, just one little tear. Maybe some begging."

I swallowed my anxiety and bent my knees, trying to remember all the terrible things he'd done to me. Peter barely even managed to get into his stance before I made my move. I needed this fight to be quick and clinical. I didn't want to waste time, risk thinking about what he smelled like, how his laugh sounded when he wasn't being cruel. How warm his hand felt splayed across my back- No.

I wasn't going to go there.

That had all been a ploy, a _game_ , I chided in my head. With that in mind, all the rage and betrayal and _hurt_ I'd been cooping up finally bubbled to the surface. Peter wasn't even countering my hits yet, he was only blocking, a look of shock on his features. This was too close. It was too familiar, reminded me so much of when I'd hit him in his apartment.

I could see every flake of green in his eyes, even the bits of gold, I could trace his scars and freckles, and smell his cologne mingling with sweat and blood. I could remember his freckles, and what he looked like with bed head, things I didn't want to think about. There was a vague memory of his voice, breathy and weak, but I wasn't entirely sure where _that_ came from. This was just..too close, too too close. My brain was screaming danger, but not at the fist he finally struck out with.

My stomach was in knots, and I didn't even notice, let alone have time to block, when he sent a quick jab at my face, causing sharp pain to flare through the bone beneath my right eye. I stepped back and threw my arms up, glowering at him. His lip was bleeding, so I must have busted it, but I hadn't even noticed. I watched, horrified, as his tongue slithered out to taste the wound, eyes never leaving mine. Peter smirked with teeth stained red, like he'd just learned something very interesting.

"So that's what gets you off, huh? Never would have pegged _you_ to be a sadist."

The bastard.

Just like that we moved again, elbows and fists and knees jerking. It was clear my strikes didn't hurt him nearly as much as his hurt me, but we were both tired from our previous fights. I just had to last longer. I wasn't stupid enough to try and land a kick to Peter's head like I'd done with Molly. Where she was passionate and violent, Peter was quick and calculating, to the extent of cruelty.

He'd seen me do it twice, it would be too obvious, and he was too smart to be tricked like that. Instead, I kicked from the opposite side and aimed lower, landing a blow to his rib cage with my shin. Peter buckled with a quiet " _Oof_ ," but grabbed my calf and pulled my leg to himself almost immediately, absorbing the strike and swinging me off kilter in the process. Pain flared up and down the leg, I'd forgotten about Eric twisting it earlier, but now it was pulsing like a drum.

For the third time today I landed on the mat, not nearly as hard as I had when Eric had put me there, but it startled me all the same. Peter learned quick, he was on top of me in seconds, but where Eric had sat on my stomach, he was straddling my waist. Rookie mistake. I twisted, ready to throw him off when his voice hissed down at me, husky and raw and wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

"You look so _damn_ hot when you hate me, Prior."

It felt like he'd punched me in the stomach. I groaned, glaring up at him before I managed to finish what I'd started. I didn't care what he had to say to me, or how it made my guts twist, he was a liar and a monster. I could remember only too well what he'd done to Edward, just for being better than him. Even if Peter didn't, _I_ remembered.

Peter's eyes widened as I sent him teetering sideways, immediately wrapping my legs around his torso so that with just a little maneuvering I sat myself on his side, limbs locked in tight with his ribs pressing into my inner thigh. He growled, actually _growled_ at me, baring his teeth and all, his spit was bright red and oozed down his chin in a thick glob.

"Told you I'd beat you, Peter." I all but snarled, feeling victorious. My muscles were burning with pain, but I'd beaten him, so it was worth it. That was, until he bucked his hips and spun around to unbalance me. Before I could defend myself, Peter's hands were on my shoulders, slamming my back into the mat with a brutal amount of force. I had a vague thought that his fingertips would leave bruises.

Then I didn't think much of anything.

I landed with enough force onto the cushioned pad for there to be a loud _smack_ through the room, or maybe that was just in my head. My ears were ringing, so I couldn't be sure, because while my back _had_ hit the mat, my head had landed _hard_ on the floor.

It even bounced up high enough to come back down and strike the concrete a second time. The world felt as though everything had suddenly shifted off kilter, just slightly not right. Peter took the moment to pin my arms above my head, chuckling against the shell of my ear. His lips brushed the skin and his breath was too warm, fanning down my neck and making me squirm.

"I told _you_ that wasn't going to happen,"

I tried to get up, but _up_ was a difficult direction to understand, and there was a warm body pressing into me so maybe up wasn't so great, anyway. Maybe moving wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Down felt pretty nice.

"Prior?" I was pretty sure that was Peter, but it sounded sort of fuzzy, and I couldn't concentrate when the room was spinning. Now _this_ sensation was sickeningly familiar. The voice from before spoke again, a little louder.

"Beatrice..Tris? Hey, eyes up here."

I'd been staring off to the side, but when I looked up again Peter was hovering over me, I could hear footsteps booming from everywhere. I must have hit my head hard because it felt like Peter was cradling my cheek and that made no sense. The back of my head was pulsing like a drum, and that should have alarmed me, but all I could do was reach up and prod at the pinched skin between his brows.

"Stopit, you're gonna..look like.."

"Woah hey no, eyes up here, Tris. I'm gonna look like what?"

Despite the command, the idea of staying awake any longer was just unbearable. My eyelids felt like they'd suddenly turned to lead, and besides, if Peter was telling me to stay awake, maybe it was in my best interest to do the opposite..right?

"Prob'ly just..wanna..hurt-"

My eyes fell shut and all I could focus on was the smell of sweat, and blood and..Peter. He was surrounding me - his voice and a few others, it was sort of comforting, but that was probably just the concussion talking.

I can't say I remember a lot after that, just that things went dark.

* * *

Okay! So that was a roller coaster of events, sorry if it felt at all boring with all the detailed fighting (and I really hope that it felt easy to read and not at all ridiculous) but the next chapter will have a nice little surprise: Peter's perspective!

So get ready for that. If everything goes according to plan I should have it up this time next week. As always I appreciate your support, feel free to comment, give me ideas or just tell me what you think is going to happen! There's a lot of interesting stuff in store.


	12. Appetence

Okay! We're finally gonna get a look into Peter's warped little head, I want to personally thank Fuckup on Archive of our Own for their absolutely fantastic portrayal of Peter and Co., I hope it's okay that I took inspiration from you in how they act - it's just so exactly like what I imagined of them that I couldn't bear to represent them in any other way. So thank you for that, also you guys should absolutely go check their stories out - so worth a read!

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Pushing and using people for my own personal gain has always come naturally, it's been a comfortable way of life for as long as I can remember. I know that sounds terrible, but it's entirely true. The simple fact of the matter is it's easier to achieve your goals when you set aside sentimentality, and understand that others were put on this earth to serve. Either you're the one in command, or you're the one doing the serving. Me personally, I've always worked to make sure I was in control of as many people as possible.

Prior was absolutely no exception to that. Within ten minutes of being in the same room as her, I'd decided I would hate her, and I _had_ hated her, it came as easily as breathing. She was smart and polite, driven, all while remaining infuriatingly, almost _disappointingly_ good. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find any one negative trait - unless you counted being pure as negative. Which I do.

It was easy to make her life hell, and the rush of exhilaration that came from turning her skin red with rage, or putting that twisted up scowl - that was in no way intimidating - on her face was just icing on the cake. I enjoyed it, and so did Molly and Drew. It made sense, felt right, and it was the natural order of things. Simple, routine.

So when I realized the full extent of how much I enjoyed making her mad, it raised some brows. I'd told both of them - argued, fought, even - that the routine _hadn't_ changed when I started messing with her on a more personal level. " _Flirting_ , is more like it," Molly had scoffed at the time, but I'd brushed that off easily, "As if I could ever be that desperate. Don't even joke like that,"

And then I'd blackmailed Prior into going to dinner with me. "It isn't a real date," I'd defended myself, "it's just revenge for her making me look like an idiot in front of all of those tools from the college," and I'd meant it. I couldn't just let that pass by unpunished - it would give the impression that someone as scrawny and weak as Beatrice fucking _Prior_ could stand up to me.

That just wouldn't do.

It wasn't _just_ dinner, anyway, the humiliation would come after, though that hadn't been my original plan. They eventually believed me, and I convinced myself, too. Not that I needed convincing, not really. I still hated her guts, even when she'd called me up at three in the morning - all fire and rage - and I'd managed to twist her into a panting, hot mess by the end of it all with just my fucking _voice_.

Even then, it didn't change things. The call didn't mean anything, the stuff I'd said hadn't, either. She didn't remember my words, so what harm was there in my having had a little fun? At the time she'd been perfectly willing. My conscience was clean.

So what if I could barely even manage to come without thinking of the way she'd sounded, saying my name? Moaning It, more aptly. It wasn't because _she'd_ called my name, I told myself in an almost mantra, because it _wasn't_. My response was just the afterglow of having anyone so under my control, through something so trivial as a phone call. The power trip was what turned me on, not her. Anyone else would have triggered the same response in me.

Even if I _had_ temporarily thought I'd felt something, that had been a mistake, and she'd ignored my messages after I'd repaid her for my own humiliation, so feeling anything _but_ hate wasn't an option. It didn't fit in with my checks and balances, of being in control. So no. I didn't feel anything for that underdeveloped goody goody.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. I felt a lot of hatred for her, a strong need to crush her beneath my shoes, and put her in her place..and if I happened to get her into bed in the process, it would only be to break her fully. That was the extent of it, though.

So, when she had me pinned to a mat in front of everyone and started _gloating,_ I couldn't be held responsible for my actions. She was asking to be knocked down a few pegs; I wouldn't allow her to think she could go around asserting dominance like that.

Not in front of someone as important as Eric fucking Coulter.

I hadn't meant to hurt her, not so severely, anyway. Mostly I'd wanted to spook her. As much as I'd dreamed of my fingers around her throat - of leaving bruises for everyone to see, and knowing that each twinge of pain would remind her of my power, of _me_ \- I didn't want her _dead_. Or, you know, brain dead. So when she'd gone down, and I'd managed to pin her arms, it only took a few seconds for me to realize that I'd seriously miscalculated.

Prior would never have just let me pin her without some kind of fight, even a futile one. I'd been expecting her to come back at me with bared teeth and murder in her eyes, like earlier. Hoped for it, even, if I was being honest. It would make the victory even sweeter. That didn't happen; I felt my stomach drop.

Somewhere in the back of my head I knew I'd heard a fairly nasty _thunk_ when I'd taken her down, but I'd assumed she had just hit the mat hard. Now, though, I noticed that her head was hanging over the side of it. She was murmuring, eyes half lidded and gaze far away, and none of those were good signs at all.

The panic that seized me then had absolutely nothing to do with concern for her well-being. It was entirely built from my fear of being removed from the program for causing severe bodily harm to a fellow recruit.

I needed her to be okay, for my career. For the plans I'd been making since as long as I could remember. For me, for Drew and Molly, she had to be alright. So the words that gushed out of me were borne of that panic, nothing more, nothing less. I'd goaded her into looking at me, and when she did, my chest tightened.

For a moment, as she gaped up at me, confused and dazed, I was reminded of her sleepily drunk in the passenger seat of my car, smiling up at me from inside my suit jacket. She'd been not so subtly inhaling my cologne, and I had tried not to enjoy that fact, or the way she looked at me then. People just didn't smile at me, not like she was, - actually, Prior didn't smile like that, ever - and it was entirely the alcohol, but I'd felt..something, then.

I was feeling it again at the sight of her injured, like I'd been hit in the gut, and was going to be sick. I hated it, and it made me hate her even more than I already did. How dare she do this to me?

Still, somehow, my hands wound up cupping her face, and I kept trying to talk to her, even as people rushed over and she murmured under her breath, quiet enough that I had a hard time hearing it. When I did, I felt like someone had doused me in ice water.

"Prob'ly just..wanna..hurt-" _me again._ It didn't take a genius to work that one out. Is that what she thought of me?

Her words caught me off guard, enough that I didn't even hear the sound of imminent danger until I was knocked roughly off of Prior and went rolling, pain burning in my cheek. My eyes snapped up to the person responsible, and I froze. Any thoughts of getting up and defending myself, attacking them for getting in a cheap shot like that, all went out the window.

Officer Coulter was staring me down with barely contained rage - which, I had probably earned, but still felt a little dramatic. I'd pegged him as the kind of guy that lived to see recruits beat the shit out of one another. Maybe he even got off to it.

"The goal isn't to kill your opponent, Hayes." I expected him to yell, but his voice was eerily calm, and that was so much worse than any screaming could ever dream to be. I backpedaled, putting a hand up as though the gesture might placate him. It was a sign of weakness and I hated it.

"I didn't know we were so close to the edge of the mat, I swear." Even to my ears that sounded like a pitiful excuse, I could have pinned her without so much force, I'd just gotten so _angry_. Usually I could control that, but when she was concerned it was hard; people usually obeyed me, or at least stayed out of my way, but not her. No. She always had to fight, to challenge, and it made my blood boil like nothing else.

Eric stormed closer, squatting in front of me and smacking my hand out of the air. A faint twitch of his brow was the only visible shift of emotion on his face, everything else was cold, calculated and cruel. I swallowed hard, trying to school my features into a calm, relaxed expression like his. I didn't need a mirror to know I hadn't quite pulled it off, but I felt like I was pretty close.

"I watched you fighting the last girl, Hayes, you're not fooling me, you sadistic little shit." I wanted to say something about the manic way he'd been watching all the fights, about how much he seemed to enjoy watching me hurt people, or just people hurting one another, but that didn't feel like a wise move. Even if this was clearly the pot calling the kettle black.

"If she's got any lasting damage, you can kiss your chances of being anything more than a damn _janitor_ goodbye, you got me?"

There was a nasty feeling roaring in my chest, almost like jealousy, but I couldn't understand why that would be the response to his words. Well, I could, but I wasn't touching _that_ train of thought with a ten foot pole, thank you very much. So I settled on anger instead. Anger made the most sense, it didn't have to be complicated, just raw.

How dare he threaten my livelihood like that over someone as inconsequential as _her_? How dare he sit - squat - there and act like he could protect her, that she needed protection from me?

"You seem awfully concerned, Sir. I get, though. It'd be pretty terrible to ruin someone so pretty before you get the chance to, huh?"

I didn't have even a moment to regret my words before there was agony shooting through my sinuses, and across the bridge of my nose. It was a seeping, tingling kind of pain. I felt hot blood ooze a quick path down my chin, and if the crack I'd heard was any kind of indicator, he'd broken my nose for sure. The son of a bitch. I cried out through my teeth, cupping my nose as gingerly as I could manage, but I could already feel blood pooling against the heel of my hand.

No one came to my aid, but then, I hadn't exactly expected them to. Just because Molly and Drew were the closest thing I had to friends didn't mean either of them were idiotic enough to get themselves - or in Molly's case, get herself even _more_ \- on the bad side of Coulter. Not when I'd screwed up and earned his disapproval so soon and so severely.

"If you're smart, you'll learn to keep that mouth of yours shut, it's gonna get you into more trouble than you can imagine." He hadn't argued with what I said, and that made that same hot, angry feeling tear up into my chest and threaten to escape out of my throat. Something horrifyingly possessive was responding in a visceral way to the thought of anyone else breaking her. That was my job, she was _mine_ to destroy - and fuck was that a train of thought I needed to derail. Fast.

I swallowed down my rage, slowly, letting it fester and grow. It wasn't smart to challenge him now - when I wasn't in danger of being poorly ranked, then I might go after him - I needed to ease back and wait for someone else to screw up so he'd forget about my mistake.

"Of course, sir."

I smiled wide, feeling none of the confidence that laced itself through my voice, even as the taste of copper threatened to choke me, and the smile pulled at my busted lip. Eric looked like he was considering hitting me again when there was a soft groan from behind him, I hated that I knew it was her, and I hated even more how relieved I was to hear that she was coming back around.

It was just for my career, for maybe not losing a shot at the top, not because her health meant anything to me. I wasn't worried about _her_. Maybe I'd even get lucky and she'd drop out of the academy all together.

I'd always been a good liar, one of the best, but I wasn't believing my own bullshit, and that scared me.

Coulter dropped his hold on my shirt, causing me to fall back to the floor, I hadn't even realized I'd been lifted by him until that point. Only when he'd turned his back, and started walking towards Tri- _Prior_ 's body, did Drew and Molly come over to me. I guess I deserved the smirk on her face and the silent judgement oozing off of him. I had a lot of lying to do.

As I wrenched myself up to my feet and dusted off my shirt, I noticed Eric squat by her body. He cradled her head, picking her up like he was lifting a pile of clothes. The monster in my chest was getting close to escaping, especially when her pale arms draped themselves around his neck and she whimpered in pain. The sound was too close to the ones she made over the phone.

He turned to face the room, the usually headstrong girl in his arms seeming every bit the little kid I'd always told her she was. I didn't like that, as much as I'd enjoyed the idea of her being submissive and weak for everyone to see, now that the moment had arrived I only felt a sick, cold twist in my stomach.

My fingers itched to take her from him, which only made my blood boil. Why couldn't I just hate her properly? I enjoyed the weakness I'd caused in her before, the victory I'd won, but it was soured by concern. Damn it. Molly gently bumped my shoulder, but didn't say anything. It didn't bring me any comfort.

"The fights will resume, I'm taking Prior to the medical wing to get her head checked, but that doesn't mean you aren't still being tested," Eric boomed, causing her face to crumple into a wince. She still wasn't quite awake in his arms, her eyes were fluttering behind closed lids, but apparently the sound of his voice was enough to startle her, because they snapped open and even from across the room it wasn't hard to recognize the look I found there.

She was terrified, peering up at Eric as he held her to his chest, looking for all the world like she'd rather be anywhere else then. He kept talking, as though unaware of the girl in his arms or just how much she didn't want to be there. That made me feel a little better, but Eric's next words took the feeling away immediately.

"Hayes, you're disqualified from today's fights, Four - remove him from the roster." I couldn't even argue, or complain, because after that he'd turned on his heel and left. Prior's fingers were tightly balled in the back of his shirt, which just made me feel more sick than I already did. Across the room I watched as the quiet trainer of the other group erased my name, a sinking feeling pulling at my heart.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted my trainer with Christina and curled my lip. She looked somewhere between tears and violent rage - more so the second one when her eyes met mine. I was in no way afraid of her, but I _was_ afraid of getting a reputation for being up girls, so I looked away and gave her a small victory.

With Eric out of the room everything picked back up again like it hadn't happened. Well, other than the nasty looks I was getting, but I felt the familiar press of shoulders, one that was near my own height, the other closer to my elbow, and that helped ease my discomfort. Not that I'd ever admit to that. Neither of them said anything, but they didn't really have to.

* * *

The three of us disappeared out of the training room the moment we were dismissed, all the while I worked to get the feeling to return to my fingertips. I hadn't even realized that my breaths were coming in shallow until Molly was standing in front of me, eyes narrowed just slightly. It wasn't like her to push when I was in this bad of a mood, but I couldn't find it in me to fight, so I just stopped. I still hadn't even dealt with the blood on my face or my throbbing nose.

I'd need to have that reset and hope it didn't heal crooked.

"You ready to admit you don't hate her yet?" Came Molly's voice, high and demanding. It had a trace of jealousy, but it usually did when other people outside of the three of us were involved. I groaned, walking without thinking, I needed a breath of fresh air, or a doctor. Probably both.

"No, I'm not," I grunted, not enjoying the flares of pain in my head when I accidentally breathed through my nose, "I do hate her, but I could have just cost myself a career, how's it going to look that I brained a girl _half_ my size on the first day?"

Drew remained passively silent, the way he was good at. My breathing was still too quick, it felt too much like someone had their hand in my chest, squeezing my heart harder and harder with each passing moment. There were these flashes of Prior in my car, and of her unconscious on the training room floor, neither were helping to calm me down. There were too many implications for either of those scenarios - and what if I'd actually hurt her?

I found myself imagining what it might be like, not passing snark between one another, not making her skin flush or her eyes flare with rage. My pulse was roaring in my head, this wasn't guilt, it wasn't, I didn't care what happened to her. Not one bit.

I heard footsteps behind us and turned, ready to jump on the idiot within range of my fists. I needed to hit someone. Before I could do that, though, there were a pair of hands shoving my chest hard enough to slam me into the closest wall. It didn't exactly hurt, but the jarring didn't do my nose any favors.

Christina was glaring up at me, hands still pressed to my chest, and I had yet to move them. I needed to stop letting these small, useless people push me around, it was starting to look bad. Molly and Drew watched like the absolute asses they were. I could just see a smirk on Molly's mouth, and yeah, I probably deserved that.

"What the _fuck_ is your problem, you creep?!"

"Says the girl who's got me up against a wall, what is it, Christina? Is Will not man enough for you, wanna give someone with a little more spine a tr-"

Her first met my nose and I couldn't have bit down the yell that escaped me even if I'd had time to prepare. The blood I'd finally stanched earlier started flowing again, and I cupped my face with one hand, shoving Christina backwards as hard as possible with the other. She stumbled, and would have caught herself if Drew hadn't extended his leg at just the right time, sending her sprawling backwards.

 _"Bitch!"_

From the look on her face it hurt. Good. My face was a mess of blood, again, and the pain was enough to make me feel weak on my feet. If my nose wasn't broken before, it definitely was, now. Molly glanced at me in a silent question, to which I nodded. She drew a foot back and crushed Christina's fingers beneath it mercilessly, not saying a word as the girl on the floor wailed and pulled at her trapped appendage, but the foot holding it there was solid. Even when Christina punched Molly's calf, it did nothing to dissuade her.

I took the opportunity to squat in front of her, though for some reason that made the pain pulsing in my sinuses so much worse. The back of my hand swiped beneath my nose, smearing blood across it and my face in the process. She glared up at me, drawing her free arm back, but I managed to catch her before she could hit me this time. I hated how dull and stuffy my voice sounded coming out,

"The hand makes us even, though if you come at me again, I'll have to break _your_ nose in return. I don't know who you and your little friend think you are, but you don't get to just come at me like I'm not going to put you in your place-"

Christina spit at me, actually _spit_ , and it hit my cheek with an unpleasant wet warmth entirely different from the blood already coating my chin. I took a breath before Molly ground her heel a little harder, threatening to break the girl's fingers. She whimpered then, eyes slitted.

"You're such a fucking psychopath - you _all_ are! - I don't know what your problem with Tris is, but you better leave her alone. She's way too good for someone like you."

I found myself tutting, brows raised despite the pain that blossomed from the movement, "You're not really in any place to be threatening me, or anyone, really. So here's what you're going to do, Molly here is going to move her foot, I'm going to let go of you, and you're going to limp your pathetic ass back the way you came - and if you feel the need to act tough again, remember that we were nice enough not to break your fingers. This time."

To her credit, Christina didn't look scared, shaken maybe, in pain, sure, but not scared. She hated me, which didn't bring me near as much pleasure as it did when Prior did it, but I didn't want to think about the why's or how's involved in that. Without thinking about it, I rubbed my chin, feeling the tacky, slowly drying blood there, and chuckled.

"She's not as good as you think, just ask your buddy Al."

I let go of her then, rising to my feet and doing what I could to keep the look of control on my face. Everything hurt and all I wanted was to lie down, but it was important not to let her know how much agony I was in. The last thing I needed was for her to walk away thinking she'd caused any lasting damage, after all.

I nodded towards Molly and she gave her foot a last, hard twist that made Christina yelp before lifting it entirely, and taking a few steps back. Finally free, she jerked to her feet, letting her hand hang by her side, which I had to give her some silent praise for. It had to be throbbing, but she didn't touch it, didn't even look at it. Instead she shot me a narrow eyed look and backed up.

Smart girl. She never turned her back to us, but she still managed to walk in a strong, determined sort of way. I had to appreciate that she didn't limp or go meekly, but it pissed me off all the same. I wanted her weak and broken, not confident. Confidence needed to be eradicated in people like her, or they'd go around getting ideas that they could take me on, and I didn't need that sort of irritation in my life.

Once Christina disappeared around the corner, Molly crossed her arms over her chest while Drew awkwardly stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. He had a dark bruise forming on his left cheekbone that I hadn't noticed before, and Molly's temple was already a soft shade of purple, the blood just beginning to pool to the surface. We started walking again, shoulder to shoulder to shoulder, and as I figured, it didn't take long for the arguing to start up again.

"Don't think we're done talking just because you broke your nose, Peter," Molly grunted, sounding for all the world like she wasn't desperately eager to try and prove I was going soft, or whatever it was she hoped to gain from being right. I doubted she actually _wanted_ to be, though, because those implications meant things were changing, and none of us much cared for change.

"For fuck's sake, Mol," I pressed my fingers to my forehead and puffed out a short breath, now that the distraction of Christina was gone, my pain was flaring back up again and it was irritating to try and ignore it while also defending myself against one of my two best friends. Both of them, technically, even if Drew's accusation was quieter and more to do with long suffering looks.

"She's got a point," He muttered, running a hand through his hair and having the decency to look surprised at the words that left his mouth, like he hadn't wholly expected to say them anywhere other than inside his own head. I groaned and closed my eyes for a moment, navigating the halls of the academy while trying to remember exactly how to get to the med wing.

"There's only so many ways I can tell you that things haven't changed. I don't feel anything for that little twit, and you're far too tough to be trying to throw puppy eyes at me, Molly. Have some self respect," That made her lips pull back into a grimace of a snarl. I laughed, then cringed at the pain. This nose business needed to be dealt with quickly, it was affecting my ability to snark properly, and I couldn't have that.

"Peter," She drawled in a condescending tone laced with sarcasm, "you're a better liar than that. Don't try to distract me with insults, it's _unbecoming_ of you," Drew didn't try to hide his laugh, but my ears burned all the same. It was only fair that she called me out, I was probably being dishonest.

"I don't get why you're rooting for me to be wrong - I hate her, you hate her, let's just keep it that way, huh?"

"Except," Drew's voice chimed in, quiet and pensive as always, "You don't hate her,"

Points for guts. I sighed, deep and long suffering, before spotting a sign to my right indicating the med wing entrance just up the hall and to the left. Molly must have sensed that I was every bit willing to escape this conversation by picking up the pace, and she followed suit, even daring to jog a few feet so that she could stand in front of me, hip jutted out and arms crossed again. Not in a sulky, pouting way, more of an immovable, stubborn way. That was more like her, I approved silently.

"My nose fucking kills, Molly, can you just get off my back for like, half an hour so I can get it reset and get some damn peace and quiet?"

"You need to work on your priorities, Peter. Prior is fucking you up, and you fucking up is going to ruin our plans."

I didn't plan on it, but somewhere between her saying my name and accusing me of ruining plans, I pinned Molly to the wall by her throat with my forearm. She didn't look concerned, or even worried really, just vaguely surprised. Her arms dropped to her sides as I squeezed, not hard enough to fully constrict her air, but enough to give a warning. I didn't miss the way her eyes drifted to the blood drying on my face in some unspoken challenge.

"Listen to me, carefully. I want that future just as badly as you or Drew, and if you keep getting in my face with this bullshit about Prior, I'm gonna need to consider not involving you in those plans, because as far as I can tell you're just looking for a fight. Save it for training, Molly."

She glared at me, raising a hand to grip my wrist and squeeze, hard enough for pain to flare there, but I didn't let up, not yet.

"Peter," Drew's tone was a warning, but I didn't need it, I could hear footsteps without his help. Before whoever the clunking steps belonged to could turn the corner, I'd drawn back a few feet and brushed away flakes of imaginary dust from my shirt with a sigh.

"You need to trust me, Molly. I'm in control,"

"You didn't look very in control in the training room."

I didn't have a response to that, so I chose to turn and walk towards the hall that would lead me to the med bay. A few men and women in uniform rounded the corner and regarded me with almost no recognition what so ever as they passed, other than a snort or two and a muttered _"recruits,"_ that I imagined was meant to be endearing, but only served to make me angry.

It didn't occur to me until I'd already entered the clinically clean area that I might run into Eric here, or I might see Prior, until I spotted her across the room sitting on an uncomfortable looking bed with her head against a pillow. Her hair was down, and just like I'd thought when I'd seen her earlier, it was definitely shorter. The cut suited her, matured her face a bit. Her eyes were closed, and her hands were folded on her lap, for all I knew she could have been dead, were it not for the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders.

"Can I help you?"

Stormy eyes opened at the soft voice of a nurse addressing me, and Prior's gaze locked onto mine for a long moment. There wasn't hate in her expression, just confusion, which wasn't what I expected at all. She looked from my eyes to the blood on my face, then my split lip. I couldn't stop myself from smirking, even as the pull of it tore at the cut she'd given me, and I could feel fresh blood beading to the surface. Without hesitating I drew my tongue down and swiped away the blood slowly, purposefully, like I'd done when we were fighting.

Even if I was sick to death of the taste of copper, she turned red to her ears and looked away, and that was a victory I savored all the way up until the nurse reset my nose.

* * *

When the blood had been cleaned, and I was cleared with nothing more than two white pills for the pain - taken with water that tasted more like chlorine than was probably strictly healthy - I found myself drawn back towards the bed I'd seen Prior on earlier.

Like before, she was resting, with her eyes closed, and I took a moment to inventory all the minor bruises on her face and arms; there was a small cut just at the edge of her eyebrow, and while it wasn't split, her lower lip was definitely swollen. Aside from those, she had an army of purplish blossoms on her shoulders and face. Probably more under the thick strapped tank top she wore.

Anyone else might have been horrified at the damage, worried for her, but all I felt was a hot wave of arousal at knowing I'd done a lot of that. I'd marked her, and she was strong enough to take it. She'd remember me with each twist and stab of pain, and she'd probably come back for more.

"What do you want, Peter?" She snapped, eyes still closed, and I was a little surprised to hear the exhaustion in her voice. The fight just wasn't there, and it bothered me in a way I didn't want to think about, itched even. Her eyes opened finally, and while she definitely looked annoyed, she also looked like she might fall asleep again at any moment.

What _did_ I want? Was I here to gloat about beating her, apologize for my unnecessary violence?

"It's just a mild concussion, not that I think you're capable of feeling guilty or anything." She was looking at me strangely, almost as though she was afraid of me, and that felt a little like I'd swallowed a handful of ice cubes. I looked away, and rubbed the back of my neck with what I hoped was a confident chuckle. It sounded more awkward than anything.

"I owe you, for the head injury, I mean. So..when you're feeling better, I mean, you can.." I paused, trying to decide in my head what put us back on the same level. How far did the damage need to go for her to pay me back?

"I guess..break my hand, or bang my head up against a wall or something. Whatever works for you, makes us even." I shrugged, and she looked at me like I was crazy, which..I probably was, but she didn't need to know it.

"You owe me for a lot more than a concussion."

"There she is," I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips, even if it hurt, maybe it was better that it did. I don't know why I did it, but I sat in the chair beside her bed, feeling a twinge of discomfort when she visibly shifted a few inches to the left to get further away from me.

Of course she wouldn't want to be near me.

"I didn't mean for that to happen,"

Even I wasn't sure if I meant her head, or the night we'd humiliated her. Twice, technically. Whatever soft, tired look had been on her face before, it was dried up now in favor of anger. My fingers twitched, itching to touch her bruises, to press on them and hear her painful intakes of breath. It startled me that I _wanted_ to crush her mouth, paint her in my blood.

That wasn't an emotional response, I told myself, it was just a physical need. Even if I didn't necessarily feel that way about Molly, or Drew, or..well, anyone that I knew of, that didn't mean anything. Clearly I just had a kink for scrawny blond girls or something.

"Leave,"

Instead of doing that, I got to my feet, hovering closer to her bed, and my fingers circled one of her wrists. This time there was no denying it - she looked frightened, which didn't add up, she'd never been afraid of me before, but maybe it wasn't _me_ she was afraid of. Or maybe it was, and my nearly breaking her skull just cemented that I was dangerous to her. I wanted her to be afraid of me just as much as I didn't.

"No," I leaned in so that our breath was mingling together, drinking her and the charged air between us in. Which was something I'd compartmentalize later, but at the moment I simply enjoyed. I couldn't outright claim her mouth, as much as I wanted to, but I _could_ invade her personal space a little longer.

"Peter," She warned, her lips quivering, "get out." Even if I wasn't good at reading people, I could tell you she didn't fully mean it. I leaned further into her then, catching her other wrist and hovering over her so that my mouth was inches from the shell of her ear. Both wrists were pinned by her head now, a bit like they'd been just an hour or so ago, except this time she was awake. This time she could struggle - and she was. I savored each wince of pain or discomfort she tried to hide from me.

From here I could feel her body trembling, and it was intoxicating. Thoughts came unbidden of my name on her lips in a breathy moan - I barely managed to contain the groan in my throat at the memory. That thought went straight to my dick without any permission from the rest of me.

"Say it like you mean it," I whispered, letting my lips brush her skin, and she smelled good, _so_ good. Like blood, and sweat. Something in my head was blaring at me to step off, to laugh and shoot an insult her way, but I was still hovering, and her breath was still coming in short puffs. We both knew she could draw her leg up, or twist herself to get out from under me if she really wanted. I wasn't holding on _that_ tight.

We were both here on purpose.

"G-get out." Again it was breathy, unconvincing. I dragged the tip of my nose along her jawline, hesitating in front of her face with almost no space between us. If she wanted to lean up, I wouldn't be able to stop it, but she didn't. Of course she didn't. Prior swallowed hard, staring into my eyes with a cloud of mixed emotions. It felt like my heart was crawling out of my chest, but got lodged in my throat on the way. I needed to get out of here, this had gone far enough.

Too far.

"You sure about that?" Our lips didn't meet, but they did brush, and it set me on fire in ways I didn't want to think about. My fingertips tingled and I was so, _so_ close, not even a hair's breadth from her mouth. She nodded, causing her upper lip to just ghost my lower one, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Without waiting another second through this torture, I pulled back, releasing her in the process and nearly tripping over the chair I'd been sitting in. I felt drunk.

I heard her let out a breath and felt accomplished in knowing I was the one who made her hold it.

Prior was flushed, her pupils blown wide, shoulders rising and falling rapidly. This, I thought absently, was what she might have looked like that night at the Pit, tucked up against the wall with my voice in her ear. Were she anyone else, I might have assumed she looked disappointed that I'd moved away, but she was probably just disappointed she hadn't hurt me.

If I didn't leave _right now_ , I knew I would do something stupid, something I couldn't take back. So I straightened up, and took a deep breath, which only hurt half as bad as it had earlier.

"You decide what you want from me, Prior..as payback. I'll be waiting." If I sounded choked, that was just because of my injuries. That I could explain away, but the aching hard on in my pants was a different story altogether. Prior swallowed hard, and seemed to come back to herself, eyes narrowed and mouth set into a frown.

"I'll think about it." The breathy sound of her voice was just another victory to add to the list. I turned to leave, but before I even made it a few feet she'd called my name, so I had to turn back to look at her, brows raised.

 _"Except, you don't hate her."_

"Who broke your nose?" I scowled, then, turning away from her. I'd forgotten about Eric until then, his warning. It was easier to be angry, suddenly.

"Officer Coulter,"

She didn't say anything else, so I didn't, either. Any traces of arousal were definitely gone now, replaced with irritation. I thought about how close I'd been to kissing her as I left, and frowned. It was beyond time to stop lying to myself, but just because I could admit she was attractive didn't mean I cared about her in any way. There _was_ a fact I couldn't deny anymore, though.

I wanted Tris Prior, and when I want something, I get it.

* * *

Well that was a roller coaster :P

So we've got a little progress now, at least we're past the "I hate you please die" stage, I guess? I'm not sure I'll be writing any more from Peter's perspective, but who knows? Feel free to leave any suggestions or predictions in the comments, I'd love to hear from you guys! Thanks as always for reading and sticking with me through this.


	13. Entelechy

Entelechy

(n.) The realization of potential

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I was just a little behind on posting this one, sorry, guys! And I'm not entirely sure when the next chapter will be up, I'm about to start a seven day work week so I'm not sure I'll have time to work on writing until that's done and over with, but I'll absolutely try!

I didn't want to repeat the previous chapter in a monotonous kinda way because that's one of my biggest pet peeves when you switch the points of view, so I tried to skim through it without missing the details that are important, I hope you all like it.

* * *

Waking up to the boom of Eric's voice wasn't what I would have called an ideal situation, but if you paired that with a - _Eric's_ \- warm chest pressing in on me while solid arms held me firmly in place, that was what I would safely call a nightmare scenario. It was bad enough that I was being held like a doll, for all the recruits to see, on day one. I couldn't even walk out of the training room on my own, no, I had to be _carried_ , and if that wasn't the absolute worst first impression anyone had ever given, then I couldn't imagine what was.

There was a dull aching through my skull that made me queasy, and I suspected that if I _were_ to stand on my own two feet, I would likely empty the meager contents of my stomach. My horror at the proximity of Eric ebbed into confusion as I heard him call for Peter to be disqualified- for..unnecessary violence? Well. Things really were different around here. I didn't know how to feel about that; I wanted to be pleased, but it didn't sit right. Peter had beaten me, while maybe not precisely _fairly,_ it was a win all the same.

I didn't feel sorry for him, though, the pain pulsing through my veins in a constant tattoo was too much to just go around feeling pity for the one who caused it. He'd looked surprised, if my memory was accurate, so he hadn't _meant_ to crack my head on the ground, but that didn't change the fact that he'd done it. Plus, it was _Peter._

I groaned in agony when Eric started walking, each step sent fresh flares of pain licking at my skull like fire. Without meaning to, my fist coiled itself into the back of his uniform, and I silently prayed that he might need to iron out the wrinkles I put there. It didn't take a lot to get over the terror of being held by someone as intimidating as Eric, surprisingly, pain took precedence. It was my entire world as we exited the training room to the sound of fights resuming. My eyes drooped a bit, they were too heavy to keep open, but he seemed to take notice because I heard Eric's voice bark down at me.

"Hey, no. Eyes open, Prior. It's bad enough you were out before, you need to stay awake."

His tone was clinical and demanding, it didn't have anything particularly cruel or twisted in it, and I had to remind myself that there weren't any dangerous edges he could hang me over here. This wasn't Dauntless, this was the academy, and I was a _recruit_ he was responsible for. I needed to relax, but that was hard to do when I could glance up and see his face full of piercings. He wasn't smiling, so the holes weren't stretched, but the sight brought back memories of knives flying at my head all the same.

I glared at the silver rings in his lower lip, focusing all of my energy into tracking the way light bounced off of them as an anchor to keep me conscious. Eric looked down, but I couldn't concentrate enough to take notes on his expression, so I didn't even try.

"You took quite a beating back there, I'm impressed you stayed on your feet as long as you did."

Was that praise? I swallowed hard and tried to remember how to speak, my tongue didn't seem to be with the whole _functioning human being_ program. It wanted to lay flat against the roof of my mouth, but finally I cleared my throat. Even that made a shudder pass through me; the pain was like water, smacking into me and threatening to take my breath.

"Still went down, though," I grunted out, to which he laughed. That was a strange noise - it wasn't filled to the brim with callous cruelty at someone's expense, just genuine laughter. It reminded me of how young he really was, - as well as Four, _and_ Zeke - they couldn't have been more than two years older than I was. Twenty two, I had to remind myself, not eighteen. I wasn't sixteen. Mixing my two worlds was hard enough when I had control of my cognitive functions, but right then it was like pulling teeth.

"I like that you're driven, but you should consider being a little less harsh on yourself. You can't win the war if you get caught up on every battle." That was weirdly nice of him. I wondered vaguely if this was what Eric could have been like if he hadn't gone through the harsh training of Dauntless. He was still cruel, I'd seen it in the way he watched fights, but right now he was acting like a real mentor might. I tried not to let myself trust it - he probably just wanted something.

Something that involved me believing he was a nice, normal guy.

I wanted to argue, or say anything, really, but it was too hard to concentrate. Already I felt a roaring headache pushing itself up against my skull, crawling down along my spine and threatening to tear me in half. I heard a door open and someone asking Eric about my injuries, but I tuned them out. A few times Eric caught me nearly dozing and patted my face, commanding me to wake up.

I floated somewhere between consciousness and sleep, without fully grasping either. There was a vague memory of being told to hold still, of a bright screen scanning my skull, people talking in technical terms that I didn't quite comprehend, but the most prominent memory for me was being told that I could finally sleep.

"See here? The swelling is minimal."

"Good enough. Get some rest, then,"

So I did.

* * *

I'm leaning in, listening to hushed voices - they're talking about Divergents, about _hunting_ them. It's..Eric, that much I'm sure of, but I don't know who the woman talking to him is. The scene gives me anxiety, like I know something terrible is going to happen. Like always, my surroundings are nothing but white. When I feel someone grab at me from behind, I instinctively open my mouth to scream, but there's a hand over my mouth, clamped down tight, and I feel sick with dread. A strong soap invades my senses.

I know the smell, but I don't know why I know it, and I do all I can think of given that the person holding me is too big to break away from. I bite their finger, causing them to yelp in pain. Someone - no, _Peter._ I'd know his tone anywhere, high and authoritative and stern - is telling the owner of the hand to shut me up, to keep me _quiet_. Oh God.

What little I'm able to see in the dark is completely eradicated when someone wraps a cloth around my eyes, tight and uncomfortable. I know there's a third person now because Peter is clearly standing in front of me and the hands on my torso and mouth haven't moved, so the third one must be guilty of blindfolding me. I'm filled with rage and fear - screaming until my vocal chords ache, but the sounds come out as little more than muffled grunts as the hand over my mouth does its job.

"Wonder what it sounds like when a Stiff begs for mercy," Peter's words fill me with a swirl of fear and panic, he chuckles darkly, and I know he means it. "Hurry up."

Something inside of me roots out the easiest problem to tackle, and even though part of me knows, this version of myself hasn't quite come to the conclusion yet. The realization that Al is the one holding me in an iron vice, he's the one being ordered around, hit me like a ton of bricks.

Regardless of the fact that I knew this already, I'd _lived_ this already, it made me want to curl in on myself and disappear. I'd forgotten, so the betrayal was fresh and painful. Al was a lot of things, but cruel wasn't one of those. How could he work with Peter against me like this?

Before I can focus on anything else, I hear water, and I know without a doubt - just like I know I clearly don't die here - that it's the chasm. My screams die in my throat. I try to fight the panic of my dream - my _memory_ \- but it's impossible when I feel my chest tightening, knowing what they plan to do to me.

"Lift her up, c'mon,"

My screams are swallowed by Al's cupped hand, my twisting and kicking gain nothing, but I still do both. My breath disappears as my back is smashed hard into a metal bar, into the railing around the chasm, and just like that, the panic comes flooding in, threatening to drown me long before the rushing water below will ever get the chance.

Without my permission, my back is arched over the rail, pain tingling up and down my spine at the angle, and the cold metal grinding into my flesh. My feet leave the ground, and just like that, Peter, Al, and the third attacker are the only thing keeping me from tipping over entirely. Not for long, though.

Then the worst comes. I feel a hot hand against my collarbones, I hear Peter's snide voice, "You sure you're sixteen, Stiff? Doesn't feel like you're more than twelve," Someone laughs with him and I feel cold. That laugh is impossible to miss - it's Drew. I don't know why that surprises me. I whimper when his hand finally cups my breast, and feel like I'm going to throw up - this isn't right, it's not okay. Not like this.

"Wait, I think I found something!"

I don't scream that time. Al comes to my defense, ever the knight, his hand leaves my mouth and I feel Peter let go as he demands for him to stop. I take my chance and scream, thrashing and fighting until my body hits the ground again. It's nice to feel secure, but I don't waste any time, I grip the closest forearm and bear my teeth into the hunk of meat, biting until copper fills my mouth and screams flood my ears. Good.

It's Peter. I hope it leaves a scar.

Somewhere in the mix of things my head hits the railing and everything spins. This is a familiar feeling, pain and adrenaline, and a tilt of the world, but I can't even grasp it as I'm ripping the blindfold from my eyes, as though it will matter. Everything besides Peter is white, Al is gone, and I can't see Drew.

What I _can_ see is Peter's rage - his face is purple with it and his teeth are grinding together as he wraps a hand around my throat, and for the second time, my feet leave the ground. I wheeze for breath. The only thing I can notice is that his hair is damp, sticking to his skin, it's something I've never seen. I hate that I appreciate it. My lungs burn, and black spots dot the whiteness around us. He holds me over the chasm, and I can't even kick him, - my legs fall just short of the target - what strikes me more than anything is the utter silence from Peter.

He's looking at me like I'm some creature that crawled out of a hole, like I've insulted him personally by existing, and maybe I have. Just when it's too much, when I think I'll pass out, I hear a muffled sound and my body hits the railing. As my arms cling to the metal bar for life, I feel myself drifting.

* * *

I woke up screaming.

There was a startled nurse to my left, both of her hands in the air, like she was surrendering, and I realized that she must have been hunched over me, until I'd woken up. There was a needle in her grip, and she looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. I couldn't have agreed with her more.

Even in the waking world, I could feel Peter's thumb against the soft skin beneath my chin, his fingers coiling around my throat and squeezing my life from me. The flesh tingled with phantom pain. I knew he wasn't a good person, I _knew_ that, but I hadn't prepared for just how terrible he really was. He'd tried to _kill_ me. Al, too. How was I supposed to face him? Either of them?

I leaned back against the uncomfortable hospital bed, every muscle coiled tight. The nurse had lowered her arms, but she still hadn't touched me, or spoken. I couldn't exactly blame her, if the raw feeling in my throat was any indicator, I'd yelled pretty loudly. It was a wonder she hadn't left right away.

"Sorry," I croaked, feeling like my head was stuffed with cotton, "bad dream."

"That's..perfectly okay, I just.." She motioned to the syringe with a nervous sort of smile, like she was afraid I'd attack her if she touched me, "Need to get this medicine in you, if you want to heal up quick." That was new, but if Amity had a salve to speed healing four years ago, I guess it wasn't much of a stretch to think something stronger had been developed since then. I nodded slowly, but held my hand out for the device without really thinking. She frowned at me, looking perplexed, but I didn't back down.

"I prefer to- I don't..like other people sticking me with needles, but..if I do it, it's okay," Her face softened at that, like she understood, and it irritated me more than it should have. She'd perceived this as some kind of weakness, a fear, when it wasn't. I didn't have a problem with the puncture, I had a problem with the medicine itself - if anyone was going to inject my body with foreign substances, it had to be me. The pain was barely even a pinch, truthfully the liquid being forced into my vein was more uncomfortable than being pierced, and that should have worried me, but it didn't.

"There we go," The nurse hummed softly, patting my arm and standing, she still looked cagey. Clearly she was looking for any opportunity to get away from me. Good, I wanted to be alone anyway. "Just rest now, your body needs to heal, I'll be by in a little bit with some food for you," I only nodded in response, watching the way her shoulders relaxed immediately, before she tittered away with a deep sigh. I didn't want to go back to sleep, afraid I might experience that particular memory again, but my eyes were itchy, and the effort of keeping them open was too much to tolerate, so I gave in.

I hadn't even truly dozed off when I heard the nurse from before, soft spoken and friendly, so I opened my eyes expecting to find her coming towards me with a tray of food. Instead, my eyes locked on to the last person I wanted to see. Peter. He stood there with blood all over his face, paler than usual, and he was looking right at me. I hadn't done that, had I? It sent a jolt down my spine, straight to my gut, when I met his eyes - all I could think of were his hands on me, of his fingers circling my throat and squeezing - but I stared back all the same. His tongue dragged itself across his busted lip, and I felt my face burn at the memory of fighting him.

 _"So that's what gets you off, huh? Never would have pegged_ you _to be a sadist."_

I looked away again, frowning hard. I didn't want to think about the implications of his words, or the fact that I enjoyed watching him taste his own blood. Or moreso, I enjoyed being the one that made him bleed. I _certainly_ didn't want to think about being held by my neck over the roaring chasm. With determination, I closed my eyes tight, and pushed all of those thoughts away. I was going to rest, and disappear from this world for a while, then Peter couldn't bother me, couldn't wreak havoc in my mind for at least a little while.

Of course that wouldn't happen.

I'm not entirely sure how much time passed before I felt like I was being watched. I could smell him from where he stood, it was a mix of cedar and something earthy, and I hated recognizing it so easily. I hated that I felt a flutter of something in my chest at the smell even more. His cologne lead me to think about lemongrass soap, and Al's betrayal, and that did the trick to kill whatever had the gall to do any _fluttering_. It had been four years ago, but to me it was as fresh as yesterday. It didn't take a genius to catch the way he was looking at my injuries like I was undressing for him when I opened my eyes.

Somehow, things went from him standing at the foot of my bed, with me assuring him that I wasn't in critical condition, to Peter being in my personal space, leaning over me, and all I could focus on was the distinct crescent row of teeth scarred into his forearm. The forearm right beside of my head. It sent a jolt of electric fear through my gut. Had that always been there? How had I not noticed it before?

Panic swelled in my chest, I was in Dauntless headquarters again, with Peter dangling me over the chasm, and the urge to scream bubbled up until his lips were brushing the shell of my ear. Now _that_ was a different feeling from panic. I felt warm and uncomfortable, struggling to breathe, this wasn't what I wanted. Not Peter, not his hot breath on my neck, or his skin against mine. I found myself struggling to remember. He was a bad guy, a dangerous, violent person who would do anything to get the upper hand. That didn't stop the incessant fluttering, though.

Peter's lack of apology made my blood boil, which was all the motivation I needed to tell him to leave, but it sounded weak, even to me. I hadn't expected him to leave, but I hadn't expected him to practically purr a no at me, either. I tried again, feeling a fuzzy sort of disconnection, I didn't even know if I wanted him to go - of _course_ I did! -, but it made the most sense to tell him to. After all..

 _"You sure you're sixteen, Stiff?"_

"Say it like you mean it."

I didn't want Peter to be the one that made my heart get stuck in my throat, but here we were, and I hated every inch of him, and every nerve ending in my body for responding so traitorously. I didn't want this. _Please just leave_ , I wanted to say, I wanted to scream or to tell him to get lost, but I couldn't even manage to say _get out_ with any sort of conviction.

"You sure about that?"

Something was seriously wrong with me. There was a moment, when he was in front of me, when I had to stare into those damn eyes, - I felt his breath on my mouth, and was reminded of a similar situation, when he'd smelled like cigarettes and breath mints - that I wanted to give up - jut my chin up and kiss him. If anything it would knock him off of his high horse, but I didn't. This was _Peter_. He'd gouged out Edward's eye, he'd tried to kill me.

Instead, I nodded.

He pulled away like I'd burned him, and I felt empty for it, just another thing I didn't want to think about, so I shoved it deep into the back of my mind, sealed it up in a box never to be opened. My eyes drifted over his forearm again, as he reminded me that I had one free shot on him. That he _owed_ me. It was so messed up, but so very like Peter that I couldn't really discredit him for it. This was him being decent, and it disgusted me to realize it.

"I'll think about it," My voice was a traitor, it sounded like I'd just run a marathon, and my skin was still singing where he'd touched me. For all I knew, he'd dragged molten metal along my jaw, chained my wrists in fire. I hated him for it, but I hated myself more - what was _wrong_ with me? Why was this how I responded to someone as toxic, and destructive as Peter? Why couldn't I feel this way about-

Al wasn't a safe bet, either.

"Peter?" I flinched at the sound of my voice, I hadn't even consciously said it, but the look on his face when he turned back around made it feel like someone had knocked all the breath out of me. He didn't seem annoyed, or overly confident - he looked.. _hopeful_. That was a can of worms I didn't want to open. My eyes flitted from the scar I'd given him in another life, to the deep red gouge across the bridge of his nose. It didn't bring me as much pleasure to see as I'd have expected it to.

"Who broke your nose?"

Whatever look I might have imagined was gone. His face hardened into something more cruel and familiar, something I recognized in him as he'd pressed his hand into my neck, and ripped my breath from me. I'd half expected to hear that Christina or Al had attacked him, even Uriah would have made more sense than the name that left his mouth like venom. _Eric_ had done that to him?

Peter left without another word, his shoulders stiff, and his entire posture charged. The confidence and playful cockiness was gone, replaced with something violent. Whatever happened between he and Eric while I was out, it couldn't have been good. I fell back against the stiff bed beneath me and groaned, running my hands over my face. Even after Peter left, my heart felt like it was permanently lodged in my throat, but even that was more tolerable than the thrumming warmth in my cheeks and along my jawline.

What the hell was wrong with me?

My body tingled at the phantom of Peter hanging over me, of his warm hands around my wrists. I _wanted_ to kiss him then, and that in itself was terrifying. Peter Hayes was a psychopath, and a violent individual that would do everything in his power to get what he wanted. Why did it have to be _him_ that made me feel like that? Why did it have to be me that he acted this way towards? I felt tears pricking the corners of my eyes, frustration bubbling in my chest and threatening to boil over.

When I finally slept, I didn't dream about memories, for once. 

* * *

The next time I woke up, it was covered in sweat, and I had images of Peter's teeth coated in blood flashing through my head. Whatever I'd dreamt was fading, but there was a hot ball coiling in my stomach, and pulsing through my veins. I looked around groggily for the source of whatever woke me, and found that for the second time today my guest was someone I absolutely didn't want to see.

"There she is," Eric's voice was strange, friendly, almost. I swallowed down the instinct to yell, he wasn't doing anything to warrant that sort of response. Eric was sitting in the chair Peter had occupied the last time I'd been awake, the memory brought a warmth to my cheeks. I'd acted like an idiot, I should have been stronger and made him go away, he probably thought I liked the attention he was giving me, now.

I ran a hand under my eye and blinked a few times, sitting upright with a quiet groan. Every part of me hurt with a deep, throbbing sort of pain, tolerable but unpleasant. Eric's brow furrowed as he watched me with unnerving alertness. For a second I felt the irrational fear grip my gut, _he knows_ , but this version of him wouldn't even know what Divergence was, let alone that it made me a target. It didn't, not in this world.

"Mn, to what do I owe the pleasure?" I mumbled quietly, trying to sound jovial. I needed to stop looking at this like it was the past, read into it as the present. Officer Coulter was my superior, and so far he'd shown an unusual amount of interest in my well-being, I needed to find out why, and how to get away from his radar. He raised his brows, a condescending smile on his lips.

"I was just worried about one of my recruits who happens to show a lot of promise," He raised his brows up as though incredulous that I might think he would be there for any other reason, so I set him with a frown and furrowed eyebrows, even if it sent sharp pain down my temples, it was worth it to make him roll his eyes and huff out a laugh.

"Fine, fine. I did want to see if you had brain damage or anything, _and_ I wanted to tell you that you're going to have to fight tomorrow, regardless of the injury. It's not in the program for us to just go easy on you, people won't in the field."

"Warn me, you mean,"

"Mm. That, too, I guess." He smiled, like he was pleased that I didn't fall for his good-mentor schtick. "I also wanted to offer to work with you a little, outside of training, to teach you how to really fight. You're good, but you need to work on using your opponent's strength against them, so that what happened today doesn't happen again." I frowned, then, certain he hadn't offered any of my fellow recruits this sort of kindness. What was he playing at?

"Why did you break Peter's nose?"

His smile flattened into a thin line, his lips turning white with the pressure. What kindness had been in his eyes hardened into a look I recognized from my memories, he'd had it before he dropped Chris over the chasm, and when he'd made Four throw knives at me. I swallowed hard and tried not to look as worried as I felt.

"He spoke out of turn, insulted his superior, and severely injured a fellow recruit." His answer was clinical, tone cold and precise. I didn't like it at all. "It was barely a break, he'll survive. What, you worried about the guy who tried to crack your head open?" His tone was aggressive in a polite way that made it so, so much worse. It was an accusation. I took a deep breath and shook my head, fixing him with a wry grin.

"I'm just disappointed, I wanted to be the one to do it." That perked him up almost immediately. Eric's grin was back in place, the laid back one that made it easy to forget just what he was behind that face. Maybe it came out in a different way here - no, no maybe, I was _sure_ it did, someone like him wasn't made good just by a memory wipe. Peter was proof of that. - but he was dangerous, maybe even more so than Peter was. I bit the inside of my cheek, watching his eyes travel over my bare arms, and all the bruises there. I subconsciously pulled my blanket up to my chin, then shivered unconvincingly as an afterthought.

"There's still time, plenty of fights to go, I'm sure you'll get a chance."

"Mm. So, uh," I paused, trying to decide if I wanted to take him up on his offer or not. There were definite pros and cons to each, but the cons were by far more intimidating. My teeth sought out the skin just inside the corner of my lips; Eric cocked his head marginally, silently urging me to continue with a look that was just on this side of impatient _and_ sarcastic.

"I don't think..it's _fair_ to the rest of the recruits- if you help me, I mean. They'll just say I got special treatment or something, that I didn't earn it on my own," I didn't mention the part where I didn't want to be alone with him, where he could hurt me if he really wanted, and no one would be there to see it. To stop it. The corner of his mouth dipped into a half cocked frown, like he was disappointed that I was saying no.

"I meant what I said, you've got a lot of potential, Prior-" Breath hissed between my teeth. I felt dirty at the sound of my last name on his tongue. It reminded me of foggy snippets of Peter's voice in my ear, of him purring down the line to ask me, " _Did I make you wet, Prior?_ " My face felt hot.

"It's Tris,"

"..sorry?"

"My name, it's Tris." Eric smirked, getting up from his chair and patting me on the upper thigh. His palm stayed there, heavy and warm, and I wanted more than anything to shrug it off, but I thought it wasn't the safest idea when I'd already turned him down for the private training _and_ corrected him.

"Tris, huh? I'll keep that in mind. Anyway, what I was saying, _Tris_ , was you've got _potential_ , you just need to stop letting what everyone else thinks of you get in the way of it." He gave my leg a squeeze and let go, much to my relief, and turned like he was leaving. The knots in my stomach were working themselves out at the prospect of not being alone with him any longer than absolutely necessary.

"Just. Promise to think about my offer. If some jealous idiot accusing you of _cheating_ at natural skill is all it takes to keep you from ranking high enough to become an investigator-" I gasped quietly, wondering how exactly he'd known that, I hadn't told anyone other than Chris, Will, and Al, "then maybe you don't have what it takes to become one in the first place." He kept walking, chuckling to himself with his hands in his pockets, but stopped a few feet away to look over his shoulder at me, toothy grin in place, "We always need more meter maids and security guards, anyway."

I scowled at the back of his head as he started walking again, biting down on my tongue and balling my hands into fists. I wouldn't let him bait me into choosing his option, if he was pushing me this hard about it, then it was in my best interest to say no, wasn't it? Then I thought of Peter's hands around my throat in another life, of my head hitting the ground today during our fight, and grit my teeth.

"Fine!" I snapped, loud enough for him to hear. Eric's body tensed for a moment before he turned to face me, arms now crossed over his chest. He had a look of pure satisfaction on his face, and maybe just a little bit of pride. "Fine I'll..I'll do it." I wanted to be strong, stronger than Peter, stronger than Al, and this was my way in. I'd seen Eric fight, I'd fought him myself, if he could show me how to do what he did..it was worth it, right?

So why did I feel so disgusting, like I'd made a deal with the devil?

"Perfect. Come to the training room after dinner, which I expect you to eat in the cafeteria. You've rested long enough."

He didn't give me a chance to argue, walking right out of the med bay without another word. I hated to admit it, but a small part of me appreciated that he wasn't treating me like I was made out of glass. Sure, I was in a lot of pain, but my head was only painful in an annoying way now, and getting out of bed didn't hurt more than it might after a particularly strenuous run. Either I was healing quickly, or I'd just gotten used to the pain.

Either way I was back in my shoes and out of the bay in under ten minutes, I even managed to jog to the cafeteria, even if my nerves screamed at me for the fresh waves of pain. Eric was right. If I was going to do what I came here to do, I needed to stop being so fragile. The first step in that was not letting my pain control me.

Across the cafeteria I spotted Peter and his friends. For someone who'd had their nose broken _and_ had been disqualified from the first set of fights, he looked pretty pleased with himself. I felt a lot of things looking at him, confusing mixtures of hate, curiosity and..something else I didn't have a name for, but hate was the easiest one to understand and communicate, so I chose that one.

His eyes dragged over my arms, the bruises there, and he looked just as lecherous as he had in the med bay. I turned away from him and went to the dwindling line of recruits who looked like they'd seen better days. Everyone in the cafeteria had some varying set of bruises or cuts and slumped, exhausted shoulders. It felt familiar, comfortable, like I was back in Dauntless.

"You should ice your hands, Chris," I heard Will, the three of them had yet to notice me, but I'd seen them - each were bruised like everyone else, but Christina's hands were worse. They were swollen, one had a bruise forming across the top, while the other's knuckles were split. I sat down next to her and she nearly jumped out of her skin, looking at me with wide eyes.

"Tris, what the hell are you doing out here?" I made it a point not to look at Al. He'd tried to kill me. He'd helped _Peter_ try to kill me. Even if he didn't remember it, I did. I smiled at Chris, instead, and shrugged as I dug into dinner earnestly. If I'd learned anything, it was that all this fighting really had a way of working up my appetite.

"M'fine, Chris. I got a shot, it's healing me up nice and proper," I offered, not unkindly, before smiling at her as gently as I could manage. Now that we were sitting together, I got a better look at her bruised hand, the shape and size of the bruise was suspiciously foot-like. I frowned at it, then looked back up at her. She rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"I decked Peter, so his troll girlfriend stomped my hand, and that is so not the point." I bristled, thinking about what Peter had said to me in the med bay. How he owed me. Was that what Molly and him had done to Christina? Made it even, by trying to break her hand? I didn't like that I was starting to understand them.

"You could have _died,_ or been brain dead, are you okay?" Will chimed in, sounding genuinely concerned. I glanced at Al, who was staring at his plate with a frown, his knuckles were white around his fork handle, but he didn't seem to have anything worth saying about my condition. Good.

I laughed a little, biting into a roll and washing it down with water, Chris and Will were looking at me expectantly. "Yeah, I told you, I'm fine," I murmured, then added with a tilted head, "Well, other than I'm absolutely starving, but yeah. Good." Neither of them looked like they believed me, and Al slammed his fist on the table hard enough to rattle our trays. I flinched and glared at him as he looked up, his face red.

"Damn it, Tris, stop acting so _tough_ \- Peter almost killed you. You're not fine." I felt my mouth curl into a bitter frown, how dare he tell me if I was okay or not? My hands balled themselves into fists around my fork and knife. I breathed in through my nose and counted to ten in my head, knowing anything I said before then would either not make sense to him, or would end in a fight between the four of us. I didn't want to do that to Chris or Will.

"You ever consider that maybe I actually _am_ tough, Al? That I don't need your protection?" I stood, dragging my napkin over my mouth, and gripped the edges of my tray, all while staring him down. His eyes were wide now and he looked vaguely apologetic, "I have just as much right to be out there fighting as anyone else in this academy, so you need to stop treating me like I'm made out of glass. I _said_ I'm fine, so I am, and I will be the next time I get hit, and the time after that."

"Tris-" Christina started, but I shook my head and stepped away from our table. Any appetite I'd formed was gone, my stomach was bubbling with heat and rage now. Once my tray was empty I looked across the room, first to Peter who was looking at me with upraised brows and a bemused smile, then to Eric, who looked that weird, unsettling kind of proud I was getting used to seeing. Christina, Will and Al hadn't believed I was strong enough to take care of myself, but he did. A weird part of me knew that Peter did, too.

Dinner wouldn't be over for another fifteen minutes or so, and seeing Peter had reminded me of how he'd said he owed me for my concussion. He hadn't mentioned the night he'd humiliated me, but if I was right in assuming he worked on a system of paying people back, and keeping the attacks even, maybe it was time I looked at that envelope in my duffel bag. I was strong enough to take whatever was in there, it was time to stop letting fear and pain control me.

When I got back to my bunk, the room was blissfully empty, just as I'd expected. I plopped down with my bag between my legs, fishing around until I got to the very bottom. The envelope was still crisp and clean, unbent or marred. For all intents and purposes, it could have been handed to me yesterday. I expected to open it and find copies of the picture that had been taken, something mocking me.

Inside of it was a neatly folded piece of paper and another envelope that was heavy. I opened that, first, frowning as I found rows of money. Not a fortune, by any means, but it was enough to surprise me. I turned to the paper, sighing, and unfolded it. Hopefully whatever was in there would explain the money. Surely he wasn't trying to _buy_ my forgiveness. The writing was cramped and small, but neat.

Before I get to the reason for what's in that other envelope I want to say I didn't plan for the picture thing to happen. You owed me, embarrassing me in the cafeteria like that, so yeah I had to make you pay for it. Literally, with dinner, and by putting up with me and playing nice. So, you paid me back - the picture, humiliating you like that, wasn't part of the exchange. So, I'm sorry about it happening like that.

If you'd just gone to coffee with me back at my place, we could have avoided it, you know, so I tried to stop it. I couldn't just tell Molly and Drew no, then they'd challenge me and they're good friends. I'm not letting you change that.

What I'm trying to say is that I owe you so, since I can't take back what we did, I can at least repay you for the dinner. All that's in the envelope is what you paid, nothing more, nothing less. Which means we traded humiliation for humiliation and we're even now. I don't want to be in your debt.

And..thank you. For going to dinner with me, I mean. I had a good time. I'd like to do it again, without having to bribe you into it.

My hands were shaking with barely contained rage as I read it, then read it again just to make sure I hadn't misread. My stomach churned and my face felt like it had caught fire. He seriously thought this made it it okay? I shoved everything back into the envelope, feeling sick and violent, and finally popped open my phone. There were several missed texts from Peter, and a few calls, too. If I was going to face this, I needed to _fully_ face it.

 **[10:08AM] Peter Hayes:** I know you're mad, but look at the envelope, it'll explain a lot.

 **[10:30AM] Peter Hayes:** Either you're not awake, not with your phone, or actively ignoring me.

 **MISSED CALLS**

 **PETER HAYES 11:12 AM**

 **PETER HAYES 11:25 AM**

 **[12:44PM] Peter Hayes:** Starting to really think you're ignoring me, Prior. That hurts, I thought you were smarter than this.

 **[12:58PM] Peter Hayes:** Alright, fine, I'll give you some time or whatever.

 **[7:00PM] Peter Hayes:** This is seriously childish, Tris. I apologized AND paid you back and everything, I don't see why you're still ignoring me.

 **MISSED CALL**

 **PETER HAYES 12:03 AM [1 Voicemail]**

"God damn it, Tris just answer your phone, stop ignoring me, and we can talk about this like adults. I said I was _sorry_ already! Look, fuck, I- can we just go to dinner or something, for real this time? Call me back."

 **MISSED CALL**

 **PETER HAYES 2:16 AM [1 Voicemail]**

"Alright, fine. I guess I was right about you in the first place, you're a child and I'm wasting my time. As far as I'm concerned, we're even. Should have known better than to think you'd handle this maturely."

The rest of the texts were from Al, Chris and Will. I didn't look at them. It felt like I'd swallowed a handful of tacks, and my eyes were stinging with tears I refused to let form. The sound of someone knocking on wood made me jump and nearly drop my phone. Across the room Eric was leaning in the doorway to our dorm, arms crossed and a smug expression on his face. My hands were still shaking as I shoved everything into my bag and tucked it back underneath my bed.

I regretted checking the messages, reading the envelope. I hated Peter more than anything, but knowing he was trying in his severely, massively messed up way to make things square between us was something I didn't quite have it in me to comprehend. It infuriated me that I was starting to understand how his mind worked. I didn't want to know. I hated how he thought his brand of justice worked for _everything_.

"Having second thoughts, Tris?"

"Hardly. Let's go, before someone sees." I scowled at Eric, and received a wide eyed look of appreciation for it. He nodded and left the room, so I did the only thing that made sense. I followed; the idea of hitting him, or anything for that matter, to release some of my pent up fury was far worth the anxiety that came with knowing I'd be at his mercy.

Right then I just didn't care.

* * *

Tris is just a magnet for violent, manipulative people, I swear. The dialogue from the chasm scene is directly from the book, I rewrote the scene because I can't bring myself to use the original without reworking it a little. I'm so glad I finally got to get into Peter's letter and his super fucked version of remorse, so that's a thing.

Things are about to get pretty interesting.

As always I absolutely adore all of your comments, they keep me motivated to write.


	14. Zemblanity

_Zemblanity_

 _(n.) the inevitable discovery of what we would rather not know; the opposite of serendipity._

* * *

Quick warning here, this chapter includes a scene very similar to rape, if that makes you uncomfortable or triggers a fear response/panic attack I would recommend skipping the first portion of this chapter. It's nothing serious, but could be troublesome for some.

Having said that, enjoy. This chapter is a little all over the place, but I'm pretty pleased with the progress!

* * *

The training room was more menacing after hours, only half of the lights were actually on, and without all the other recruits there, the whole place was eerily quiet. I felt like the entire facility had been abandoned. It didn't escape my notice when Eric turned to the only set of doors leading in or out of the room, and locked them. The click was audible, sounding a bit like he'd just hammered the last nail into my coffin. I raised my brows at him, crossing my arms so that it wouldn't be noticeable that my hands were shaking.

Now that I was alone with Eric, I began to rethink my decision. Was it worth it to be able to avoid being overpowered, if it meant facing whatever danger I'd been locked in with? Eric's lips curled into an amused smile as he prowled closer, arms extended from himself as he made a wide, sweeping gesture.

"You're looking at me like I'm going to murder you," He laughed, letting his hands fall to rest on each hip as his expression turned condescending. "You really should trust people more often," He hummed, walking towards the mat I'd fought on earlier that day. Where I'd lost to him _and_ Peter, but at least I'd beaten Molly. Once he was standing in the center of the mat, Eric raised his arms again, spread them wide, and ducked his head slightly, that grin still in place.

"Come at me,"

I did just that, rushing towards him and aiming low. I ducked his first strike with the intent to hit him in the gut, but instead only managed to stumble a few feet away, with my back to him, as Eric spun out of my reach. I didn't have time to recover as I felt a strike land on my back, stinging but not as hard as he could have made it. A chastisement more than an outright attack. He tutted at me, and when I twisted back around to face him, arms held up to block in case he attacked, his expression was amused.

"Oh come on, you can do better than that,"

I tried to prove him right. Time and time again, I jumped in and struck, but each attempt he seemed to read my movements and deflect me, either sending me stumbling backwards, or actually striking me. I was seeing red at this point, between his playful insults, and the sharp hits he was landing - a slap to my ear, a rough palm to my forehead, a shove at my stomach - I felt more like a child being played with than a student being taught. The injury to my head had slowed me considerably, and I hated how sluggish I felt because of it.

As he moved to strike, I threw my hand up and deflected it, letting my body follow the motion until I was in his guard, and was able to cuff him right in the ear, as he'd intended to do to me. Eric's brows were threatening to disappear into his hairline, and his teeth glistened, lips thinned into a feral grin. I flinched at how close I'd gotten, momentarily distracted by the grotesque holes in his face being stretched to their limits by his smile.

That was enough to miss the subtle hook of his foot behind my heel before I fell unceremoniously on my backside, glowering up at him. I'd only just avoided biting my tongue off, but the fall still rattled my teeth and set my head to aching. Eric laughed then, hands on his hips again, and that same stupid, condescending look on his face. He could have at least pretended he wasn't enjoying it so much.

"Never let your opponent distract you, Tris. It's a one way ticket to a loss, and maybe even a lost life," His eyes trailed over me in a repulsive, slow rake that made me feel exposed and uncomfortable, "or worse, depending on the criminal,"

From the mat I twisted my body so I could kick out at his ankles, making Eric stumble for a few steps before he caught himself, and straightened up. His grin somehow got wider. I found that I didn't really mind seeing pride on his face as much now as I had before, I was even starting to kind of enjoy the way it felt to earn it. That meant I was making progress, and progress was what this was all about, right?

"And never underestimate your opponent, just because they've gone down, or are smaller or weaker than you," He preached, turning my attack into a lesson, but his smile dipped into a scowl as I began to get to my feet, slower than I might have if he had been openly attacking me. That was my downfall, it ended with him sending a sharp jab to my collarbones that flattened me to the mat again. Eric dropped to one knee, pressing the other to my chest to keep me there.

"Another deadly mistake, trusting that I'd actually let you up. You need to be faster, ready at all times."

I wheezed at the pressure, pushing my palms into his knee in the hopes he might let up, but he didn't. To my horror, Eric pressed his hands against my throat and leaned in, cutting off my air supply, and sending me into a panic. I was ashamed at how quickly I felt that I'd lost control. The situation had gone from sparring with Eric, to being back in the pit with Peter cutting off my air supply, feeling the cool spray of the chasm on my arms, knowing I would die.

"Stay on your feet, don't let your guard down for a moment,"

I wheezed and grabbed for Eric's wrists, kicking out with my legs, but he seemed prepared for that, shifting so that his knee was no longer on my chest; instead, he landed between my thighs so that his hips could press me down further. In the new position, I was stuck with my legs splayed wide, so that even if I tried kicking at him, it would gain me absolutely nothing. My throat was aching, and my lungs burned as I stared up at him; wide eyed with tears burning as they came to the surface.

"You have to learn to use your opponent's strength against them, use _my_ strength against me, Prior. Make me stop, before you pass out," again, he looked at me like I was food, "or worse." Panic prickled my skin and sent a chill through me. I needed to get out of this.

I tried to scream, but it felt like my windpipe was being crushed, so I tried to think, instead. Really, I did, but all I could feel was his body pressed against mine, and my skin crawled at the utter feeling of powerlessness. It was overwhelming as I thought _this was it_ , this was how I was going to die. I'd never get all of my memories, or anyone else's, back. My vision was cloudy with hot tears as I relaxed, hoping to loosen his hold by easing the tension in my muscles.

"Focus, stop letting your fear control you! Being scared isn't going to save you, or grant you pity." He barked, making me open my eyes to see him glaring down at me in disgust. This was the Eric I'd know before, the Dauntless leader I'd feared and hated. I blinked away the tears and scowled up at him, despite the terror clawing in my chest, threatening to rip me apart. _Focus_. I tucked my leg around one of his ankles, and twisted until he was forced to roll or have it broken, landing me on top of him. Eric's fingers loosened enough for me to slam my forearms into his, ripping his grip from my throat entirely.

"That's a good girl," Laughter filled my ears.

I wheezed fresh air in, drawing my fist back and punching at him wildly, he blocked it with his forearms but I kept punching, sobbing, filled with fire and rage. How dare he make me feel so small? So scared? How could I have been _stupid_ enough to trust Eric of all people? His hands gripped my wrists in an iron vice, stopping me in my tracks.

"Tris, you need to calm down. Losing control of your anger is how you lose the fight." I froze, looking at him to find genuine concern on his face, although that was probably his impeccable lying skills at work. My cheeks were wet, and that was mortifying. I felt my lower lip trembling, so I bit down on it and screwed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. It was over, I was in control of my body again, I'd flipped him and he was under _me_ now. After three seconds of deep breaths, I opened my eyes again. Eric was frowning at me, looking annoyed.

"I think I made a mistake, agreeing to this,"

"Bullshit. You need this, you need _me_." Eric sat up so that I was left to sit on his thighs, my wrists still gripped in his hands. I wanted to jerk away, the feeling of confinement was quickly making panic bubble to the surface again, "Do you want to stop feeling so helpless, _huh_?"

I bit my lip harder and nodded, not trusting my voice. I didn't want to feel the way he'd just made me feel again, not for Peter, not for Eric. Not for anyone in the world. Being at someone else's mercy brought out something absolutely pathetic and disgusting in me. I hated it. Eric's fingers released me, and I rose to my feet almost immediately, rubbing one wrist a few times before doing the same to the other. If the pain in my throat was any indicator, I'd likely have bruises.

"Then you need to stop being a coward." He growled, pushing himself to his feet with anger burning in his eyes, "I picked you because I saw you out there, fighting. You weren't a coward then, you took everything Peter gave you, everything _I_ gave you, and handed it back tenfold. This," He gestured to all of me vaguely, but I knew the tears on my face, and my general weakness was what he meant, what he was so repulsed by, "that's not what I wanted to see from you. You disappointed me, Prior."

I scowled and roughly wiped my tears with my forearm, clearing my throat even as it burned. After a moment of hesitation, I let my knees bend, and returned to a fighting stance, guard up. I needed to harden myself to my fear, to the tingling sensation in my gut, and the alarms screaming in my brain that I needed to get _away_ from Eric before he really hurt me. I wasn't a coward, and I'd prove it, sanity be damned. I'd spent enough of my life afraid, or ashamed. Not anymore.

"I'm _not_ a coward," I snapped, pushing down my fear as best I could; my tone was surprisingly firm, if not a little venomous. I used my hate for Eric, for Peter, and for people like them to steamroll through the coiling knots in my stomach. His pierced mouth stretched into a grimace of a smile, the friendly looks he'd been giving me before long gone. He was serious, now, and that was equal parts terrifying and satisfying.

"Then you won't mind if I don't pull my punches anymore, and Prior.." He hissed my name, eyes drifting from my head to my feet before landing back on my face again, all fire and venom, "the next time I pin you, I'm not going to coach you, I'm going to act just like anyone else in that situation would." It felt like someone had wrapped ice around my heart and squeezed, but I nodded, hoping the fear didn't show on my face.

"Don't think I'm choosing this way because I want to do that to you, I'm not a creep - not that I'm trying to be your friend, either. I just want to see that potential I mentioned," He explained, circling me like a hungry animal. I moved, careful not to stay in one place for too long. Neither of us struck yet, but the air was thick with tension. "Because fear like what I just saw? That doesn't come from being in that situation alone. Someone's done that before, haven't they?" My eyes widened marginally, but I didn't confirm or deny it, just narrowed my stare, and hoped he'd shut up and attack already.

"Thought so. Until you can handle it without pissing your pants and crying for mommy..I'm going to push you to your breaking point. So either you _break_ , or you push back."

We traded punches and blocks, ducking and weaving for a few minutes without either of us really getting an upper hand. My whole world was the spare few feet of the mat we were on, the way my split knuckles throbbed, and the constant mantra in my head. Stay on your feet, stay on your feet, _stay. On. Your. Feet._ If I hit that mat, I didn't trust that I could handle the situation, that I would be able to get him off of me again without breaking down, and I didn't want to find out what he planned to do if he _did_ get me on the ground.

Eric didn't smirk, he didn't smile, or show any sort of amusement at all as he jabbed and darted into my guard, over and over again. Usually I managed to weave, or spin around his back and retreat a few feet, before he got tired of that. He growled in frustration, drawing a taut leg out so that his shin connected with my torso, and knocked the wind from me. I wheezed, dodging the punch that followed while hugging my stomach with the other, all the while backpedaling to put a few feet between us.

"This is fighting, not dancing, stop trying to _escape_ and start trying to _win_. If you're thinking you can use your stamina, outlast me, that's a weak try at a win. You need to learn to beat me head on."

I was having a hard time breathing, between the length of the fight itself, and the damage I'd taken earlier in the day, my endurance was about to run out. I didn't even have the energy to snark back at him. Instead, I dove into the fight on reserve. My quick strike surprised him enough to let me punch Eric in the jaw, and while I was in, I hooked my heel around the back of his knee. He crumpled forward, and hit the mat on his knees with a grunt, grabbing for me. I jumped backwards, but missed the way his hand wrapped itself around my calf.

A yelp escaped my lips as my back hit the mat. Eric immediately grabbed the other leg and yanked me towards him. I yelled then, clawing at the mat and kicking wildly. I landed one kick to his stomach, and he grunted, but otherwise seemed unphased. That was when I made the mistake of rolling onto my stomach, and trying to pull myself away entirely. Eric's hands dropped my calves in favor of gripping each side of my waist. When he had a decent hold on me, he jerked me back into him, until I felt his hips pressing into me.

Everything in me wanted to scream, but I bit it down and concentrated. Fear was bubbling to the surface again, not as badly this time since his hands weren't at my throat, but now it was the lack of control _and_ the fear of what Eric planned to do to me. He flattened his chest against my back, hands still on my hips, and pressed his face into my hair next to my ear. Eric inhaled deeply and chuckled low in his throat. I threw my hips up, hoping to unbalance him, but it only served to make him groan into my ear obscenely.

"That was easy, Prior, is it fear you were feeling before, or were you trying not to _beg_ me?" He growled, making me feel disgusting in my own skin. How dare he accuse me of something like that! I screamed, angry and deep, slamming my back into his chest, but Eric only rolled his hips and pressed into me tighter. I could feel a hardness against my backside, which shot fear through my veins like ice. Hadn't he just said he wasn't a creep? How far was Eric willing to take this?

His lips grazed over my neck, and I shuddered in repulsion. I could feel each cold piercing as it dragged; it made me want to vomit. Eric ground himself into me again, and moaned this time, his breath hot against my throat. I thought of the hospital room, of Peter, and wasn't sure if I was relieved or horrified to find that I wasn't responding to Eric the way I'd reacted to him. I swallowed hard and focused, tried to plan. How could I use his strength against him? Eric's fingers left my hips, skirting up my sides and sliding beneath my shirt. My eyes felt hot as shame burned through me.

Instead of agonizing over the terrible things he was doing, or would do soon, I could only worry over what my parents would think if they could see me. It made me feel dirty, used, and he'd barely even touched me yet. Eric's breath puffed against my ear again, and I threw my head back, cracking it into his nose. He grunted in pain, but bit down on my earlobe a moment later, so hard I thought he might have broken the skin. Another yell escaped me.

"I think you like this, _Prior_. I think you get off on this shit."

" _No!"_

I yelled so fiercely it made my throat raw, and pulled my legs towards my chest, curling into a ball. I slid my back down his chest until I was sitting upright, now Eric's hands were pressed to my stomach, pushing higher. I didn't give him any time to take advantage of the new situation, though. Instead, I grabbed his forearms and rolled hard to the right, taking him with me until he was on his back.

It didn't do much to free me, I was still pinned to his chest, facing away from him, but my arm was free in this new position. Without a second's hesitation, I threw my elbow out towards his face behind me. Pain flared up my forearm to the tips of my fingers, pulsing in my elbow in a rapid ache. I must have hit his mouth instead of his nose, this time.

Eric cursed then, and his grip loosened. My elbow throbbed from hitting his teeth so hard, but it was worth it to be free. I didn't hesitate at all, rolling away from him and to my feet. My hair was no longer in its ponytail, falling loose and wild around my face, and my breaths were coming in short and heavy. I'd gotten away, I was safe, and Eric was cupping his face. As far as I could tell, I hadn't made him bleed, but apparently it had hurt. Good.

"You're a pig, I can't believe you wanted me to _trust_ you." I hissed.

"And _you're_ on your feet, while I'm still on the ground. My methods might be unorthodox, but they get results, don't they? You stopped being afraid, instead you got pissed, and you beat me."

"Because you were going to _rape_ me!"

"Oh please. If I wanted to have sex with someone that badly, I've got plenty of better options. Don't flatter yourself, but the point is you thought I was, and that was what you needed to think, to be properly motivated- right?"

Something in me wanted to be angrier, I wanted to draw my leg back and kick him while he was down, punish him for saying those things to me. He needed to suffer for touching me like that, but I had to accept what he was saying. I _was_ standing, and he was recovering from his injury on the sparring mat. I was safe, relatively unscathed. His _motivation_ for me had been disgusting, but it _had_ worked, just like he said. That didn't mean he was any less of an absolute monster, though.

"Are we done here?" I bit my tongue and opted not to say how badly I was dying to take a scalding hot shower, so I could scrape away the feeling of his hands on me. Eric grinned as he got to his feet, and as I got a good look at him I realized I had actually made him bleed, after all. His upper lip was split and his teeth were stained red. I swelled with pride at knowing I'd done that. He spat a glob of blood to his left, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, seemingly unphased by the cut.

"For tonight, yes. You still have a long way to go, but this is progress. You'll come back here tomorrow night, same time."

I walked away from him without responding, or fully turning my back on him, eager to unlock those doors and escape. Eric's voice calling my name - Tris, not Prior, surprisingly - stopped me as my hand met the lock, making me turn my head to look at him fully. I hoped the scowl on my face was as full of contempt as I wanted it to be.

"Don't lose tomorrow."

It wasn't until I opened the door to the hallway outside that I realized our training room was sound proof. Out here it wasn't eerily silent, I could still hear the hustle and bustle of a working facility, even this late. No one outside of that training room had heard me screaming - they wouldn't have heard or known if Eric had taken things too far. It took everything in me not to break into a flat out run, but I managed to walk with my head high. Sweat rolled down the back of my neck, though, and fear was twisting my gut in nasty ways.

* * *

After a brief shower that was almost too hot to tolerate - it left my skin a raw pink, but I couldn't feel Eric's fingers, or his breath, anymore - I finally made it back to the dorms with my duffel bag by my side. Most people were asleep, some of them were leaning over to talk to one another from bunk to bunk, but Christina was sitting on hers, legs crossed and mouth set into a hard frown. She was waiting for me - of course she was.

I slumped down to scoot my bag back beneath my bunk before I forced myself to sit next to her, tucking one leg under myself while hugging the other to my chest. She frowned at me, looking from my head, to my hands, and everywhere else, as though she was taking in a mental tally. When she seemed satisfied, her eyes finally met mine, serious and concerned; it made my stomach clench with guilt. She opened her mouth, then pursed her lips and looked down, only to look back up and open it again a few seconds later.

"What happened..over dinner, with Al- I. I didn't mean to," She stopped, closing her eyes with a huff, and starting again, " _We_ didn't mean for you to feel like..you're not strong, or capable. We just worry about you, Tris. Especially with how you've been the last few months - you're in your head half the time, and when you're with us it's like..you're different." I frowned, opening my mouth to defend myself, but she held up a finger and shook her head, backpedaling slightly.

"I'm not saying it's a bad different, you just have to give everyone time to adjust to this new you. Before, you were pretty submissive, you needed us to help you more, and you wouldn't have snapped like you did, even if you didn't need us. It's..good, I think, that you're learning to stick up for yourself, but..you have to see that it might be a little jarring for us to suddenly not be needed anymore, right?"

"You keep saying us," I deadpanned, not looking away from her face despite how much I wanted to, "but you mean _Al_. You and Will do need to stop treating me like I'm a child, but when you do it, I don't feel as smothered, or belittled. Al acts like he _owns_ me, like I've personally offended him by having a backbone. In case it's escaped your notice, Chris, I'm not planning on being a safe little secretary who never sees action in the field." My throat hurts from Eric squeezing it, but I keep talking anyway, it feels like I have to say these things, now. "I need my _friends_ to support me in my strength, the same way that you supported my weakness."

I remembered very clearly how they'd all treated me when I started doing better than them in the second portion of training at Dauntless. Christina had even turned on me, and I had a terrible feeling that she was going to do it again before all of this was over. She nodded, but didn't look particularly happy with what I'd said. After a moment of her pressing her lips into a thin line, she finally spoke again.

"I just..think you might have been just a little harsh on Al, you have been, for a while now. He cares about you a lot." Suddenly her expression hardened a bit, and she added quietly, "A lot more than Peter does, for sure." It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach and twisted - I thought I heard someone take a sharp breath, but that might have been me. It was probably my imagination, but if felt like we were being watched. If only Christina knew what Al had done to me, what he _and_ Peter had done to me. Unfortunately, I couldn't use that to explain my negativity towards him.

"Chris, Al doesn't care about _me_. He cares about a fragile little girl who needs a hero. I don't need protecting, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped insinuating whatever it is you're trying to say where Peter is concerned. What happened with him..that's not what you think. I can handle him."

"There you go again, Tris. Why do you keep bottling this all up? We're your friends, we want to help you-"

"I get that, Christina, seriously. I really appreciate you, and Will for that matter. I'm just not ready to forgive Al yet. When he can stop treating me like I'm his little pet, then maybe we can move towards being on good terms again."

Chris sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, but it seemed that she understood I wasn't going to back down, because she eventually nodded. I took this as my cue to get out of her bed, so I got back to my feet, hesitating for a moment. Touching people was still difficult, but I'd worried her, so the least I could do was make her feel a little better, right? Despite the jolt in my gut at the action, I leaned down and hugged her.

"Thank you, seriously. You're a good friend," I mumbled, pulling back to find a small smile on her face. Perfect, now she couldn't say I didn't care about her at all. When I stood upright I glanced around the room, my gaze automatically falling on Peter and Drew's bunk. Peter's eyes were wide open, and he was watching me, which shouldn't have been a surprise, but my stomach twisted all the same. I flinched with a hard frown, and met his gaze, despite wanting to do anything but. He smirked, seemingly pleased with himself, though I couldn't imagine why.

For a moment I was back in the medical bay, Peter's fingers on my wrists, his breath on my neck, on my mouth. It sent an involuntary shudder down my spine. Peter seemed to notice even that, as he drew his lower lip between his teeth and smirked like the smug bastard he was. I felt the blood rush to my face and scowled. There was no way I was just going to stand there and let him think he was working me up.

I pointedly looked away from him, climbing into my own bed with only the slightest pain in my muscles. It wasn't until I was under the blanket, and my head hit the pillow, that I realized exactly how tired I really was. Today had been a nightmare, and if my training with Eric tonight was any indicator, things weren't looking to get better anytime soon.

I fell into a troubled sleep.

* * *

I knew I was dreaming because the world was focused, I could see the walls of The Pit in its new design, with the lights and the club music. Peter's voice was in my ear, taunting me, and I'm pretty sure I was fighting with him. It felt familiar, like I'd been here before, like I'd done this. I walked across the Chasm without any fear, it didn't even spark a memory of being strangled, nearly being killed. Instead I just lectured Peter, focusing on how heavy my limbs felt. Had I been drinking?

It was hard to concentrate, and all at once the phone was gone - Peter was standing in front of me, still talking, still telling me how he and his dream girl had come to this exact spot. The world tilted, and I could hear Peter perfectly, but I didn't need to hear him. I could _see_ what he was telling me. He had my body pressed up against the wall, pressing against me, and I could only imagine the the look on my face was downright shameful. I had my eyes closed tight, blood pooling to my face as his lips crushed into mine.

It felt like my heart stopped as I kissed him back, whimpering into his mouth until his tongue met mine. I melted into him, then, digging my fingers into his back. Still he talked frantically, telling me how his dream girl _begged_ , all while he kissed a hot line down my jaw, until he was sucking on my pulse point. He was drawing noises out of me that I was certain I'd never made in the waking world.

Heat pulsed between my thighs, and Peter seemed to be just as worked up as I was. I could feel him against me, even through his jeans, it made my head spin faster and faster. His fingers dug into my hips and my back slid up the wall, instinctively I wrapped my legs around him and cried at the pressure as his pelvis crushed into mine. I'd never been touched, not by myself, let alone him, and it was overwhelming to experience.

Peter rocked his hips, grinding into me, and all I could do was whine and ride out the pleasure. Somewhere in my head I felt shame, but I couldn't find it here, not when my heart was in my throat and Peter's lips were on mine. Suddenly his voice registered again, I'd stopped listening to what it said, but he stopped moving against me, and I whined at the loss. He was gone.

I was alone against the wall, aching and desperate. The phone was back against my face, and Peter was on the other line. I could hear him, how frantic he was, begging me- no, he was ordering me. Peter never begs.

"I want you to touch yourself - I want you to moan. I'm close, and I want to come, and you ruined my perfectly good material with your call,"

His words made me weak. I couldn't do it, I told him so.

"That's a shame. I wanted to hear you moan. Did you enjoy my story, at least? Did I make you wet, Prior?"

My world disappeared into a black pit that was just Peter's voice and my pulse throbbing between my legs, I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. I was vaguely aware of him talking to me, babbling, really, telling me all the things he would do to me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was aware of my voice, of moaning his name out loud-

* * *

I woke with a gasp, feeling heart pounding in my ears, and had to look around frantically to make sure I was in my bunk, not in the pit. My head spun as I laid back again, feeling an unfamiliar heat pooling between my legs. Anxiety filled me as my fingers dipped beneath my waistband, curiosity outweighing my embarrassment, even when I felt an obvious slickness pooling down there. I'd need another shower. I didn't want to think about my dream, about what it meant.

I'd remembered snippets before, so it wasn't just a weird dream. It made me think about Peter telling me I'd called him months ago. About how he wouldn't tell me what else had been said - and everything hit me hard. I was horrified. What Al had accused me of..God. I'd actually..done that. I shoved the thought deep, deep into the back of my mind and forced myself to get up.

Once I managed to blink away my exhaustion, I went into autopilot, ignoring the way my pulse still pounded at the apex of my thighs. Exhaustion weighed me down through a morning routine of showering and dressing in the uniform we'd all been given. Simple black tank top with thick straps, loose fitting black sweat pants and sensible running shoes - also black. The Bureau sure didn't do much at all to make the academy different from Dauntless. It was comforting, and I hated that.

Somehow I ended up in the cafeteria with a meager breakfast of powdered eggs and toast, but I'd been in my own head, trying to avoid Peter, Eric _and_ Al all at the same time. I couldn't face any of them with the dream so vividly burned into my mind, it felt like anyone who looked at me would know. Across the room I spotted Nita, she was cleaning up the assembly line where we picked up our breakfasts. Her smile was strange, I'd gotten so used to the severe expression she used around me, but that smile wasn't pointed in my direction.

She was talking to Four, seemingly the two of them were friends because he smiled, too, and nowhere in my memories did I recall him smile that easily. Something in my chest tightened as Nita's fingers brushed down Four's arm until their fingers locked. It made no sense for that to make me feel upset, but I still felt that way. With a huff, I tore my eyes away, focusing on my food instead. So far I had been lucky in avoiding company, my table was unoccupied, but I was pulled out of my reverie when a tray landed with a plastic click across from me and I had to look up. That had been too much good luck, it seemed.

I was surprised to find Zeke across from me, all pleasant smiles, and his tray was loaded down with muffins and eggs, there was even a spiral as thin as paper that I think was supposed to be bacon, but I hadn't trusted it enough to try. I pushed my food around my plate, looking around to see if anyone else was joining him, but he seemed to be alone.

"Ah..good morning," I managed to choke out, not wanting to seem rude, though I wasn't sure I wanted to share my solitude, even with him. He'd been a good partner when I'd had to intern with him during school, and I didn't have any memories of him from before the wipe, so I had no reason not to trust him but, well. I didn't really trust anyone, anymore. The more I learned about the world before this one, the more I began to realize everyone had an agenda, and it usually involved hurting someone for their own gain.

"Morning, Tris! You better eat up, after yesterday you need all the nutrients you can get," He offered politely, his eyes raking over my face with a frown, and I knew it was at the bruises Peter had left behind. It hadn't been _just_ Peter, though, Eric had a hand in my abused skin, too. I tried not to think about the ring of bruises around my neck, blossoming purple and violent. Anyone who had watched my fight yesterday knew that I hadn't been strangled. I had no explanation for it.

"Oh yeah, I guess that's true." I tried to smile at him, but it didn't feel like I really succeeded, before digging into my cold eggs. They didn't taste like much of anything, but I wolfed them down all the same. Zeke was right. He seemed pleased with that, and started in on his own plate with the table manners of an animal. I tried not to laugh at him for that. His eyes darted up to my neck when he thought I wasn't looking, and I swallowed hard, but didn't mention it. Neither did he.

"Are you ready for the fights today?"

"Mm? Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better. Whatever that medicine stuff is, it works wonders," I offered, almost too eagerly. I didn't want to fight, not when I knew Eric would be picking my every punch and kick apart to destroy later, but I did want to prove myself. After yesterday, being carried out of the training room like that, I needed to work harder than ever so I wouldn't turn my loss into a habit.

"Good, good. So uh how did-"

"Zeke, there you are!" A female voice chimed, followed by a tray landing on the table next to my trainer, as the owner of both sat down. I didn't quite recognize her, something itched in the back of my head like I should have known who she was, but I just couldn't find the memory. She was around my height with dark brown hair and the same olive colored skin Lynn had. Beautiful, but severe.

"Hey you," Zeke grinned at her, looping an arm around the woman's as she leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. I felt my face grow hot, and looked down at my plate, annoyed that things like a simple public kiss made me uncomfortable. I jumped when my trainer spoke up again, his voice jovial and friendly, like normal.

"Mm, Shauna, this is the intern that rode with me, she's in my group. Tris, this is my girlfriend Shauna," He hummed politely, and I felt a weird twitch of embarrassment. Why was I worth introducing? Somehow I managed to smile at her, and my stomach clenched up when she returned it, shaking hands with me. I was still bad at it, but she didn't say anything about that.

"Nice to meet you, I've heard some good things about you." I felt my shoulders relax and got another bite of cold eggs, trying to finish my breakfast so I could escape before training for some peace and quiet, but I nearly choked when she spoke up again. "I also heard you got your head knocked in pretty nasty yesterday, and that the guy that did it got his nose broken for it." After recovering, and swallowing my food, I wiped my mouth and laughed uncomfortably. I didn't like that word had spread so quick about that. The last thing I wanted was for people to start talking about Eric hurting Peter because of me.

"Oh, did he?" I asked, trying to seem surprised by the news, but I'd never been a good liar at the best of times. Neither of them were rude enough to call me out on it, though.

"Yeah," Zeke started, looking vaguely uncomfortable now as he shot Shauna a look I didn't understand, "Eric broke his nose because he got mouthy, not because he hurt Tris - but he did disqualify that prick for smashing her head like that." I felt relief wash over me at that, grateful for Zeke and his truthfulness. That sounded much better than the way his girlfriend had said it. That implied that I was the reason Eric attacked a recruit, and I didn't need that sort of publicity.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Peter sitting at a table nearby. He hadn't been there before - how had I missed him coming in? I flushed at the memory of his voice in my ear, quivering. His nose looked better this morning, the cut above it had healed up to a thin line, but there were still deep bruises beneath his eyes and along the side of his nose; most of the swelling was gone, though. He seemed focused on his food, but from the tense set of his shoulders it occurred to me that he might have been listening to my conversation.

I wasn't sure, not until Shauna spoke up again, catching my attention by crying out softly in surprise. My head snapped back around to look at her, but she wasn't meeting my eyes, she was staring at my throat. I must have stretched it more obviously by tilting my gaze over my shoulder before. Shit. Zeke was staring, too, but he didn't say much about it, just shoved his mouth full of food.

"Shit, since when do recruits strangle one another in training?" She asked, sucking air through her teeth as she reached for my chin, presumably to lift it and get a better look at the marks Eric had left. Naturally my head pulled back as I tucked my chin down, feeling uncomfortable. From behind me I heard a sharp intake of breath, from Peter's direction, and when I glanced his way I spotted him staring at my back, hands gripping his utensils tightly. He didn't look particularly pleased, especially when our eyes met.

"Oh..uh, that wasn't.." I turned back to look at the two officers in front of me, smiling a little with a shrug. Zeke was looking at Peter, now, scowling. I didn't want to think about the look I'd found on Peter's face. Pursing my lips, I hesitated; I had to think for a moment, but ultimately I decided to use a grain of truth, "Uh, it was, I mean - I was working on self defense, with a partner. Outside of training, that is." Zeke frowned at me with furrowed brows, and concern in his eyes, but that wasn't as bad as the expression Shauna had. She was looking at me with upraised brows and a smirk. I wasn't sure if I liked what that look was implying. After three seconds I got up, laughing awkwardly and unconvincingly.

"I'm uh, I need to go find my friends - I'll see you in training, Zeke. Ah- and uh, nice to..have met you," I offered Shauna, who still looked amused at me. I stormed to the back of the room and deposited my tray. After that I scurried off, not noticing that Peter had chosen that moment to get to his feet, too. It wasn't until I stepped into a deserted hallway a few minutes later that I heard footsteps. I turned to face whoever it was, groaning when I realized it was him, glowering at me as he advanced.

For every step he took, I backed up until my back was pressed to a wall, Peter's hand splayed next to my head. His other hand hung between us as he glared straight into my soul. I swallowed hard, glaring right back up at him. I wasn't going to let him scare me - even if I already felt the tell tale knot of anxiety balling up in my gut, stabbing its tendrils into my heart. Among other things. My palms were pressed to the cold wall behind me, and of all the stupid things to think of, I thought of the dream - of the _memory_.

"Peter.." I grunted, trying to get him to stop. Trying to get myself to stop.

More specifically, I thought of Peter grinding me into a wall - even if that hadn't actually happened -, and my legs felt like gelatin. His fingers brushed my chin before he gripped it, tight enough to be uncomfortable without hurting. I stared him down as he jerked my chin up and inspected my neck, nostrils flaring, and when his eyes jumped back up to mine they were furious. He let go of my chin with a violent motion that sent my head sideways for a moment. I jerked it back, shoving my palms into his chest.

Peter's other hand came to rest beside my head, caging me in, and I froze. My heart was in my throat and I thought of him panting in my ear, feeling my skin flush at the memory. Of all times, now had to be when my head went _there_. It felt like I was walking in quicksand, like time had slowed and all I could do was watch Peter glaring at me. When he spoke, his voice was rough. I hated how it sent a shudder through me, starting a fire I had no interest in.

"Who did that? And don't give me some bullshit about your friends, none of them could do _that_ ," I drew my tongue over my lower lip, feeling my fingers tremble, and why wasn't I doing anything? He was barely hovering, all I'd need to do to get away was shove him backwards, but I didn't. I just let my palms rest on his warm chest, had yet to move him. I breathed deep, and instantly regretted it, because my senses were overwhelmed with the smell of him. I felt a dampness between my legs and bit the inside of my cheek.

"Why should I tell you that..?" My voice was a traitor, like yesterday, it was soft and breathy, like I'd just got done running a marathon, and he seemed to notice. The anger ebbed into something more amused, and his eyes flicked to my hands still on him, dragging back up to my face as he cocked one brow, smirk in place. No, no no no. I needed to derail this train, and fast. Peter ducked in close, hovering next to my ear and breathed, one of his hands dropping from the wall to land on my hip. What the hell was going on?

"Did you decide what you want to do to me yet?"

Air hissed between my teeth at his tone, sultry and amused, he'd worded it like that on purpose, the absolute bastard. I gritted my teeth and counted to ten in my head, ignoring the way his thumb was drawing circles on my hip. When I didn't answer, he surprised me by biting the skin directly below my jaw. A jolt of electricity shot through me and I made an embarrassingly whine-like noise. My skin was on fire and I hated it, my pulse had taken root in my core, like it had earlier that morning.

"Who did it, Tris? Who touched you?"

That caught my attention, the possessiveness in his tone. This time I did shove him backwards, he looked surprised from where he stood a few inches away from me. My heart was in a vice and it was hard to breathe, but I lifted a hand to press to the spot he'd bitten without thinking about it all the same. I wasn't going to let Peter control me, not like this. I wanted whoever made my body respond the way it was to be someone I loved, and I didn't even like him, no - I _hated_ him. My breaths were coming in shorter, now.

"It's none of your business - keep your filthy hands off of me."

"Mm, 'atta girl, tell me I'm a _dirty_ boy,"

"You're disgusting,"

Peter crowded me again, dragging his mouth up my neck until his lips brushed the shell of my ear, this time both of his hands were on my hips as he pulled me to him, until we were joined at the hips. I yelped, gripping his shoulders to ground me. Peter growled in my ear, and I shuddered, ignoring the fact that we were pressed together - that there was a distinct hardness pressing into my hip. That I liked it.

"Then you're disgusting, too, Prior," He hissed, and then softer, more seductively he whispered, "Did I make you wet?" It felt like my stomach dropped out of my body. Hearing him say that, specifically, after my dream, it made me want to curl up and die. It made me want to press my mouth to his, and since neither of those were viable options, I spoke, instead. I don't know why I said it, but the words tumbled out of me before I could stop them. I suddenly needed him to know.

"I remember the call. A-and I read..your messages, and the letter - I listened to your voicemails, all of it."

Peter's entire body went rigid and he stepped back to look at me, assessing my features with scrutiny. It looked like he didn't believe me. I didn't know if I wanted him to, I didn't know what it meant to admit that I remembered what we'd _done_ or that I knew he'd apologized to me. He looked vulnerable then, mouth set into a hard frown.

"When? What do you remember?"

"Tris?" Christina's voice came from the left, and I'd never been happier to hear it. I stepped away from Peter, leaving him standing there looking lost, and looped my arm around Chris'. She looked from Peter to me, her lips pursed, but I only shook my head and frowned, nodding in the opposite direction of him. She seemed to take the hint, and we headed towards the training room.

"We're not done, Prior!"

My heart didn't stop pounding until Peter was gone. Even then, my skin tingled with the memory of his fingers on my hips, of him pressed up against me. I shuddered, and Christina stopped, looking worried. She put her hands on my shoulders and frowned at me, taking another survey of my limbs like she'd done last night, as though she feared Peter might have fatally wounded me in the short amount of time we'd been together in the hallway.

"Did he hurt yo- God! Tris, what happened to your neck?"

I groaned, running a hand down my face. I could murder Eric for all the trouble he was putting me through. He should have known better than to do something like that, something that would bruise so obviously. Christina looked absolutely livid - she _also_ looked like she was about five seconds from storming back down the way we'd come.

"I was training with an officer, didn't get his name. I wanted him to teach me how to defend myself from.." I felt my face flush and scowled, "From, y'know, that sort of thing."

"Tris, honey..what was Peter doing? Why do you need to know.." Her eyes widened and I began to frantically shake my head. She'd absolutely gotten the wrong idea. She looked even angrier than before, and actually did take a few steps in the other direction, hands balled at her fists. I reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"No no, _God_ no Chris. It's nothing like that, I just, after my fight yesterday I felt so..helpless. I don't want to feel like that again, and the officer was just doing his part. I'm fine, I promise - now let's..we need to get in there before we're late." Christina didn't budge, she didn't look convinced, either.

"Please, Chris. I promise you, no one hurt me- I mean, not with the intent to do anything bad, just..training." After a few seconds of hesitation she huffed and threw her hands in the air like I was the most frustrating person on the planet. That was entirely possible.

"Fine, but you and I need to have a good, long talk about honesty - and about what the hell is going on with you and that slimeball, and don't you _dare_ tell me nothing. That didn't look like nothing to me."

"..Okay, fine, but..later."

"I'm holding you to that."

With that settled we made our way into the training room, I already felt exhausted, and the day had only just begun. The room felt safe and comfortable with the lights on. I could forget how Eric had me down on the mat just a few hours ago, or how in less than twenty four hours I'd had two different bodies pressing in on me, crowding and suffocating me. When had everything gotten so complicated?

As I spotted Eric across the room I scowled - his eyes dropped to my neck and a wide smirk pulled at his lips before he looked at me pointedly. The cut over his lip was virtually gone. I scowled, letting my eyes drift to the board with all of our names. Today I was paired off against Uriah, which was a little troubling. He was a damn good fighter, but I could handle him. Probably. Eric's voice rang in my ears, making me scowl even harder.

 _"Tris, don't lose tomorrow."_

What the hell was happening to my life?

* * *

Alright, so Eric's hand is still not being shown, not really, but at least we're starting to see that he's still that lovely psychopath from the original books! And what's Peter going to do, now that he knows that Tris is up to speed on everything, especially with her /super/ sketchy neck bruises?

Not sure when I'll have the next chapter up, my schedule has gotten all messed up thanks to work, but I'm hoping to get back on a regular time again soon!

As always thank you so, so much for all your reviews, they mean so much to me. I do want to warn any of you that are uncomfortable with how twisted this relationship has been so far - I don't intend for Peter and Tris to be cuddly and normal, it's not in their archetype. While they won't be an abusive couple, please understand that there will be a decent amount of toxicity between them, especially before feelings are admitted, but even after that.


	15. Quatervois

_Quatervois_

 _(n.) a crossroads; a critical decision or turning point in one's life_

* * *

Oh man, it's been a while! Sorry for disappearing for such a long time without any warning, but the holidays and money shortages have made things a little hectic. I'm still not on a SET upload schedule, but I'm going to try to be more frequent again, definitely won't go /months/ without updating if I can help it. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

As it turned out, beating Uriah wasn't as difficult as I'd imagined it being. Shame burned in my stomach at the way Eric looked at me with that same, disturbingly unmasked sense of pride after I managed to pin Uriah with an arm to his throat, and a knee against his chest. After all was said and done, I held a hand out and helped him to his feet, and that put a scowl on Eric's face. Uriah grinned at me good naturedly, breathing a little heavily, "Not bad, Tris. Color me impressed," It didn't escape my notice how Peter was watching. How he scowled when Uriah draped an arm around my shoulders and led me back towards Christina - that same look was mirrored on Al's face. Pride swelled in my chest for having won, but I tried to bite it down, getting a swollen head now wouldn't do me any good at all.

The rest of the day was surprisingly smooth going. I didn't lose any of my fights, I also didn't have to fight Peter. He went up against Al, and it was almost scary how violently that fight went. How Peter's head slammed into the mat as Al pinned him down with his arms behind his back, like he planned on cuffing him then and there. Peter had murder in his eyes when he finally got up, but for some reason his loss didn't exactly feel _good_. Probably because Al kept looking at me like I should be cheering him as my hero for beating someone half his size. I didn't. Instead I stuck close to Christina and Uriah, discussing quietly who we thought might have to fight the next day.

Training in the afternoon hurt. Every muscle in my body sang with pain, between my regular fights, my after hours training with Eric, and the brutal beating I'd taken from Peter the day before, everything in me just wanted to relax and rest. Despite that, I found myself enjoying the ache and burn more as the day went on, it felt like an accomplishment. At one point Christina came to a stop next to me, her hands braced on her thighs, and her breaths heavy from running. I grinned over at her, knowing I had to be just as flushed and windblown. She laughed, and rolled her eyes at me, panting incredulously,

"Damn Tris, are you even human?"

The phrase twisted somewhere deep in my gut, feeling familiar, but I couldn't quite grasp why. With a shake of my head, I forced a grin onto my face and rose back upright, taking off at a slow jog. Once I managed to get a few feet away, I looked over my shoulder at her cry of "are you kidding me, more running?" and broke into a fit of breathless laughter.

"Damn, now my secret's out~"

"..Was that a joke? Get back here, you're not my Tris!"

Chris chased me all the way back to our bunks; things felt relatively normal, comfortable even, as we rifled through our bags for a clean change of clothes. It was only when we started for the locker rooms that I got a side eye glance, and a serious sort of frown from her, though she softened both with a gentle bump of her hip against mine. I sighed, and let my shoulders slump; all I wanted was a nap and copious amounts of carbs, but then, I never really got what I wanted before, so why would today be any different?

"So, are we gonna talk about what happened this morning?"

".. _Nothing_ happened, Christina,"

"I'm not an idiot, _Beatrice_ ," I winced at the use of my name like a weapon, "Stop using your conflict resolution voice on me. It looked like you guys were about to have sex in the damn hallway. I thought you weren't a _thing_? Are you just hiding it because I don't like him?"

"God, _no_ that isn't it! It's just.." I groaned and dragged a hand down my face, pushing through into the locker room as I tried to decide what part of the truth to tell her, if any. There just wasn't any way for me to convincingly pass off a full lie - maybe not even a partial one, if I was being honest with myself.

The room was fairly empty, for which I was thankful. I didn't need any nosy eavesdroppers to make this more uncomfortable. For another long moment there was only the sound of our breathing, before my locker squeaked open, shrill in the silence. When I glanced over to Christina, she was leaning against hers, brows upraised in a silent question. I blanched.

" _I_ don't even know what's going on, okay?" I ducked my chin, storing my clean clothes in the locker, and pulled out a fresh towel, before finally finding the courage to look her way again. She seemed skeptical, but hadn't interrupted me yet, so that was..progress, I guess. "I don't..we're not, _like that_ , I mean there's not a 'we' at all - seriously. I've never done anything with Peter, not really anyw-" Too late I caught my slip up, and she did, too. Her eyebrows threatened to disappear entirely into her hairline. In a moment Chris' hands were on my shoulders and her eyes were wide with curiosity.

"What do you mean, not _really_?"

I felt my face flush, and wanted nothing more than to disappear into a puddle right then and there, but it was too late, she'd caught a scent of weakness and she wouldn't let it go until I told her something. I closed my locker stiffly and pressed my back to it, taking a few breaths to try and stall. I had to tell this in a way that made it sound way less horrible than it actually was, but that just..wasn't possible.

"So I..uh. Remember when I disappeared in the Pit when we'd been drinking?" Her face crumpled into a look I couldn't quite pin, but it wasn't good. After a moment, she nodded silently, so I continued, "Well, apparently I'd gotten myself pretty worked up, anger wise, at how horrible Peter was being?" God this was mortifying, "So I..called him."

"You drunk dialed _Peter_?"

"Yep." I let the 'p' pop uncomfortably, unable to look my best friend in the eye as I hugged my elbows to my chest, "Went about as well as you can imagine. So uh. I.. _naturally_ I chewed him out. A lot. Don't know why he didn't hang up, but..yeah. Somewhere down the line the conversation just..derailed? And we kind of had.." I muttered the word shamefully, too fast, apparently, because Chris was looking at me with her brows knitted, and shook her head,

"You had what? I didn't catch that."

"..phone..sex?" I squeaked out, hiding my face in my hands. I could feel the skin burning - admitting it out loud just made everything so, so much worse. Christina was uncharacteristically silent, which sent my anxiety into a fever pitch. I peered between my fingers at her to find a bewildered, almost horrified expression on her face. The yelling would come soon, she'd tell me how despicable I was for doing something like _that_ , especially with someone like him.

"Can you..say something?"

"You- with..oh my _God_ Tris, what the Hell?" Her words didn't match the smile on her face at all, she looked a bit like I'd told her I wanted to play dress up or something. Like she was _proud_ of me, and honestly I was getting sort of tired of all these people looking at me with pride, like I was their little crowning achievement..but it was better than disgust, I suppose. "You're just _now_ telling me this?! That was months ago!"

"..I only just..remembered it happening," I cringed, knowing how it would sound.

"Wait you mean he didn't lord that over your head?" Chris' forehead was wrinkled from how high her eyebrows were pressing upwards by this point.

"No..he didn't actually," I frowned, confused about the fact myself, why _hadn't_ he held that over me? It went perfectly with his whole teasing nature about how I was secretly infatuated with him. "No, he didn't tell me it happened at all,"

She ran a hand through her hair and huffed out a disbelieving sort of laugh, "That's..you seriously don't take the 'crawl before you walk' sentiment to heart. I knew you were a freak under all that prudishness," Chris winked, a coy smile on her face, and I chose to bang my forehead against my locker with a long suffering groan. "I mean I want to be mad, but I'm honestly kind of thrilled you're showing some sort of deviance from the good girl routine - though..to be honest, him doing that while you were _that_ drunk, it's..kinda rapey, isn't it?"

"This is why I didn't want to tell you!" I flushed, almost as horrified at her suggestion that I was a _sex freak_ as I was at her suggesting I got..what, ear raped? "It was..just a one time thing and I barely even _remember_ it, so, not important. Anyway, what I'm saying is there's _nothing_ going on between us - I mean, I don't..think there is? He's started acting kind of weird, like, I don't know- _flirty_ weird, and I.." I swallowed hard and mumbled in a softer voice, feeling guilty and dirty for admitting it, "I don't..hate it, honestly. He's a slimeball, and I want to break his nose, but.." All I could do was shrug, Chris' expression softened into pity, which twisted my stomach in ways I didn't like.

"Honey, you've got to find a better guy to moon over, Peter's just..using you,"

"He's not _using_ me, that would mean I gave him something _to_ use!" Her words made anger boil up in my stomach. The same way her expression did, all swimming with concern. I wasn't some little kid, sure I didn't have any real relationship experience to pull on, but I wasn't an idiot, either. "I know he's a bad guy, and I don't plan on doing anything with him, okay?" I hadn't meant for the words to come off of my tongue sounding so harsh, but Chris took a step back and frowned, looking a little offended. "it's just..harmless banter. You used to do it all the time with strangers."

"I'm just worried about you is all, Tris. You're still kind of..innocent, I don't want you to lose that to some asshole like Peter," She looked somewhere between worried, and annoyed, like I wasn't giving her the response she wanted. "We talked about this last night, I care about you, I don't want to see you hurt - I mean God, if he _likes_ you he wouldn't have tried to kill you yesterday. You have to know that, right?"

Ouch.

I scoffed, the anger growing to a boiling point, "I'm an adult, I'm fully capable of protecting myself, okay? So please, _stop_ treating me like a kid!" I snapped, eyes wide and mouth set into a hard frown, "You think I don't know those things? I just told you, _twice_ , Peter is a psychopath, I'm not crawling in bed with him! Just stop. Drop it.."

The look on her face twisted my heart, but before I could apologize, or soften the words, I turned on my heel and stormed into the showers, leaving her standing there with her mouth ajar. 

* * *

I ate dinner alone, Chris and Will sat with Uriah and didn't even try to join me, but I didn't mind. It gave me time to think, and I managed to have an entire meal without any interruptions. I couldn't really tell you what I ate, or how it tasted, but it was a nice break from all the stress I'd been dealing with. When I got back to the dorms, they were blissfully empty, so I curled up on my bunk with the full intent of getting a quick nap in before training with Eric that evening.

Just as the warm, cozy feeling of sleep pulled at my aching body, I felt a weight dip next to my head. I groaned internally, wishing that just _once_ , I could have a plan that actually worked, but upon opening my eyes I realized that _no_ , I absolutely couldn't. A familiar pair of deep green eyes were boring into mine. Peter was standing by my bunk, his forearms pressed against the bed and his chin resting atop them. He looked like this was absolutely natural, like he was comfortable here, did this all the time. I felt like someone had touched me with a live wire.

"Do you mind? I was trying to sleep."

"Mm. No I don't mind, go ahead, I'll just keep standing here," His words were dripping with sarcasm, honey sweet. Hating him was almost scarily easy. When I didn't relax, or speak, he sighed with a half cocked smile and stood up straight, though his arms stayed folded on my bed. "No? Well in that case," He paused, one of his hands stretching out towards me before his fingers brushed over my forearm, feather light. Peter's eyes stayed on me the whole time, challenging me silently. "You wouldn't mind having a little chat, now, would you?"

I hated the shiver that broke through me, "What do you want, Peter?" I scowled, sitting up suddenly and scooting back away from his touch so my knees were pressed to my chest. Nothing good could come from letting him touch me so callously. He raised his brows and fixed me with a strange look I couldn't quite decipher, nostrils flaring. After a moment, though, he smirked, and rested his chin on his forearms again, head tilted to the side slightly. My moving didn't seem to put the point across, because his hand just reached forward once more, fingers dancing a line over my ankle. I scowled, regretting my choice in switching to shorts after training; I could easily feel how warm, and rough his hand was.

"You said you remembered," He started, his words measured, like he didn't want me to know what he was thinking, and maybe he didn't. He'd almost seemed like he had a heart in his letter to me, and on the phone he'd told me how badly he wanted to..No. No I wasn't going there. My face flared with heat and Peter's lips parted into a wolfish grin that was in no way attractive, or did anything at all to my heart rate.

"You _do_ remember. Interesting." His fingers danced up my calf to my bent knee, thumb swiping slow, lazy circles there. "So you know everything, huh?" Was that a hint of hope behind all his sarcasm and anger? I swallowed hard, staring him down as his palm brushed the inside of my knee, long fingers reaching to my thigh. I couldn't bring myself to move it.

"I know what _you_ say, can't exactly believe you," I silently cursed at the breathless tone of my voice. It felt like fire was igniting in my veins, and it was all Peter's fault. He clicked his tongue and raised his brows at me, mouth dipping into a half frown, all the while his hand inched itself further, palm now resting on my inner thigh, and I still hadn't stopped him. My traitorous body actually parted its legs without my permission, albeit only enough to let him move freely, but it was still mortifying.

"I don't really gain anything from lying, and making myself look weak to you, now do I?" His thumb brushed my stomach, and for some reason _that_ woke me up. I squeezed my legs together, tight enough to make him flinch, and gripped his wrist, only relaxing my thighs once I could pull the offending appendage away from me. Instead of anger, amusement swept over his face, and it made me want to punch him. My fingers were circled around his wrist, holding it suspended between us.

"I don't believe for a minute that this isn't some kind of angle,"

"You have serious trust issues, Tris," I flinched, not sure I liked him calling me by my nickname, even if I'd told him to use it in the past. This was different. It made me feel like we were friends, or something, which wasn't at all true. I bit my cheek and shrugged, it wasn't like I could argue with him, exactly, but I couldn't tell him that he'd tried to kill me, either. His eyes flickered from my face to the way I was still holding his wrist, which caused me to drop it like I'd been stung. "You should trust me," Was that vulnerability in his voice a ploy, or did he really want me to try seeing him as more than a monster?

"No you shouldn't, and you should leave her _alone_ , Peter." Chris' voice was venomous. I'd never heard her sound so violent before. A dark expression crossed over his face as Peter stood upright, dropping his arms to his sides. He glanced to the doorway she was hovering in with a cocky smirk that I was horrified to find I _knew_ was fake. It wasn't his regular level confidence, and when exactly had I gotten so good at reading Peter Hayes of all people?

"I mean you basically _molested_ her over a phone call when she was too drunk to know better, you're not exactly the poster boy for trust - and you did kind of try and strangle her to death, why would she _ever_ trust you?" Peter flinched, making me feel weirdly guilty. "Oh and let's not get _started_ on the bribery to force her on a date, or how you made her cry her eyes out afterwards," Peter's eyes widened marginally, and it occurred to me that he probably wouldn't have guessed that I cried, not with how _angry_ I'd been when I told him to leave. He looked at me strangely for a moment, but I stared at Chris instead.

After an awkward moment of staring, I cleared my throat and pushed myself out of the bed, unwittingly putting myself between Peter and Christina. I hadn't even hesitated before turning my back on him, there wasn't any fear that he might try to hurt me, and I didn't want to think about what that meant.

"Chris, I told you, I can take care of myself - I know you're just trying to be a good friend-"

"Oh, do you? Because I'm starting to think you don't know _anything_ about being a good friend. You'll shut Al down like he's got the plague, but you let this scumbag touch you? Talk to you like that? I'm starting to think.." She paused, brows furrowing angrily, "I don't know you at all."

"Woah, uncalled for," Peter grunted, trying to sound lighthearted, but I could hear the venom under it. "If this is your idea of friends, Tris, you might think about getting new ones," He murmured, pressing his fingers against my forearm. That made Christina's nostrils flare, but she didn't look at him, she looked straight at me and glared.

"I've tried to warn you, but you're too stubborn to listen, so I'm not going to keep trying. When you get your head out of your ass, and realize that Peter's _pathetic_ and doesn't care about you, you can come and apologize for being an idiot!"

"Chris! It isn't like that! I just-" I stopped, scowling, I was torn between not wanting to lose her, and not being talked to like she had. _I_ could apologize? I'd done nothing wrong! How could she just turn on me like this? Except..I shouldn't have been surprised, not really. I'd seen it happen before, when I excelled and she didn't - she'd been pretty catty then, too. My heart ached at the thought of losing her, but my pride refused to bow down. I couldn't say anything, and she looked a little more sad than angry at the prospect, but stormed off all the same. It wasn't until she was gone that the warmth of Peter's hand on my arm, his chest on my back, hit me and I spun around to face him with a scowl to end all scowls.

"Oh don't give me that face - you can't possibly blame me for your poor taste in companions. She's clearly manipulative, I was just trying to-"

"That's rich, coming from you!" A huff of a laugh passed my lips as I cut him off, and Peter visibly tensed at the sound, but I ignored that, "You just can't be happy until you ruin my entire life, can you? I'm going to leave and go _train_ , since that's all I can do right as of now. Do me a favor and leave. Me. Alone." I all but growled, stomping my foot for emphasis. His entire demeanor changed almost instantly.

There was that darkness in his expression, the rage from this morning, it sent a chill up my spine. I took a step away from him, but he followed it, gripping my bicep.

"Train with who?"

"God, not this again! None of your business, you're overstepping, Peter. Let go."

"Who. Are you. Training with?" He all but growled, his eyebrows twitching upwards with each over-stressed syllable, the grip on my arm tightening until it was almost painful. The anger in my stomach flared up, boiling and threatening to consume me. Who the hell did he think he was? Christina, Will, Al and now _Peter_ all acted like they _owned_ me, that I owed them my existence on a silver platter without any secrets. I wasn't going to cow to her, and I _certainly_ wasn't going to submit to Peter, either.

"Let go." I warned again, quietly, eyes narrowed. He squeezed harder, so I growled out a quiet yell and struck at his wrist with my fingers extended in a chopping motion. He winced, but drove me backwards until I hit the wall, just like he'd done this morning. His eyes were dark, mouth set into a hard frown. "Stop it," I hissed up at him, but he sneered.

"Tell me who it is, Tris. Who's putting his hands on you? Who's doing _this_ -" Peter gripped my jaw with his free hand, almost hard enough to hurt, but only to expose my throat and the bruises there.

That was it. The uncomfortably possessive tone in his voice, the way he crowded my space, as though he could intimidate the truth out of me, I snapped. My foot came down hard on the toes of his shoe and he flinched, stepping back to lift it with a pained expression. I spun away from him and ducked out of the dorms with a huff. What the hell his problem was, I didn't know, but I did know I wasn't going to stick around to find out. My jaw and bicep tingled, and I could feel pulse throbbing where his fingers had been.

I ran all the way to the training room, only stopping once the door had been slammed behind me. Eric was leaning against a pillar, but looked up with genuine shock when I barreled in, his mouth open in a silent question. I puffed out a breath at his inquisitive stare.

"You're eager," He stated in a flat, almost accusatory tone before shoving away from his pillar.

"Just..lock the door, and let's get started.."

To my surprise he didn't argue. 

* * *

Training with Eric was just as intense and terrifying as it had been the night before, but it came easier to me than I'd have expected, and everything else became clockwork. That morning when I got out of bed, Chris was already up and gone while Peter was fast asleep, and when I made it to breakfast, I found my friends together eating. None of them waved in greeting except for Uriah, so I ate alone and worked towards avoiding Peter. With that came a system, during training I either stood alone, or with Uriah, which seemed to please Eric, but irritate Peter. I fell into a routine.

With Christina (And, by extension, Will and Al) not talking to me, I would rise early, eat by myself or with Zeke if he found me, all while dodging Peter, and go through the daily training regimes set out for us. After would be my sparring sessions with Eric, and then I'd crawl into bed and almost instantly fall asleep. It was depressing, and I missed my friends, but I wasn't ready to talk to any of them. They expected me to apologize, and I'd done nothing to warrant one. This went on for a week - Christina and I had to spar twice, I beat her once, she beat me once, and when I fought with Will he tried to be friendly, but it never panned out. I wasn't paired up with Al or Peter at all. At the end of the week we were given a break, and permission to leave the academy, to celebrate surviving our first week of training.

At first I entertained the idea of staying in, catching up on sleep, or training alone in the practice room, but then I watched Chris leaving with Al and Will, her arms looped around each of their waists; it made something sour and hurt inside of me writhe uncomfortably. That was how I found myself dressed up in a pair of dark, tight fitting clothes that Chris had picked for me what felt like ages ago, queuing up outside The Pit entirely alone. Once I was surrounded by so many people, I felt regret itching at my brain, urging me to go back, but I pushed through regardless.

Walking into the building I'd come to know as home in another life was a bit jarring now that I _knew_. The last time I'd been here it had seemed vaguely familiar, but now..it was like walking into an old school - the halls were similar, but I didn't recognize the faces, or the decorations. It only made my alienation feel that much worse. Without meaning to. my eyes drifted over the Chasm, and I felt a knot twist itself agonizingly tight in my gut. I'd almost died there. I didn't linger, couldn't allow myself to become wrapped up in memories that weren't supposed to exist, so I made a beeline for the bar.

Originally, I'd planned to buy drinks for my friends, but somehow that turned into sitting on a stool, drinking alone instead of going to them. When it came down to it, the ball of anger and betrayal in my chest wasn't quite as easy to ignore as I'd first imagined. Even from here I could see the three of them up in one of the booths, drinking and laughing up a storm. Jealousy burned in my throat, and had me ordering another round. My attention shifted from my drink when I felt someone move to sit beside me - without thinking, I turned with a scowl, fully prepared to tell whoever it was to leave me alone - only find Peter there. My words died in my throat.

He looked nice, nicer than he had for the last week of training, anyway. He'd worn a soft looking sweater that complimented the muscles I knew were beneath it, and his cologne was painfully familiar to me, even mixed in with the smells of a hundred other people's perfumes and colognes. I cursed at the fluttering feeling in my stomach.

We'd been in this situation before. Sort of. He'd looked downright dismal on his stool, and we hadn't been this close - hadn't talked at all, actually - and if I was being honest, seeing him here didn't annoy me nearly as much as it had back then; a fact which irritated me enough to make up for the lack of hostility. I pursed my lips while he opened his, unsurprisingly, and spoke loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Still having trouble in paradise, huh?" He spoke into his glass, glancing at me from under his lids in what I could only imagine was a practiced look of disinterest. It made him seem like a snob, and I didn't miss the way he pointedly looked up in the direction I knew my friends were sitting, "Seems like they're having fun," I scowled and looked back at my glass, _there_ was that trademark anger that he could ignite so easily in me. At least, if nothing else, I had that as a constant in my life; my unadulterated hatred for Peter.

"You here to gloat?"

"What's there to gloat about?"

"Oh I dunno, how I'm a stubborn brat, how all my friends hate me, or only _I_ could be caught drinking alone in such a crowded place? Maybe throw in an age joke, while you're at it." That made him raise his brow, but he didn't answer until all the liquid was drained from his cup. He grimaced, but turned it into a smile - an honest to goodness _smile_ without menace or anything behind it. I frowned.

"Tch. You're projecting, Prior." He clucked his tongue, but then furrowed his brows and added in a tone that was bordering on..something. I didn't want to think about what. "You've got serious self-esteem issues, you should work on that."

I snorted into my glass, finishing it off and pushing the empty container towards the bartender in hopes of a refill. "You'd be to blame for a lot of it, y'know," I grunted out, then froze, horrified that I'd said it out loud. I'd admitted a weakness, admitted that _he_ had made me weaker, which surely didn't bode well for me in the future. When I looked his way, Peter didn't look pleased, mostly he just looked perplexed. For a long moment he squinted at me, but then he rolled his shoulders in a shrug and took a sip off of his refilled drink.

"That might be true, although I have to say, self pity isn't a good look on you."

"Oh, because I'm _so_ concerned with what you think is a good look for me,"

"You're wearing your hair down."

"And?" I flinched when Peter's hand moved towards me, thinking he meant to do something awful, but instead he just tucked a long string of hair back out of my face, his calloused fingers brushing against the shell of my ear in the process. I bit down the urge to shiver, opting to scowl at him instead.

"You were wearing it down the night we.." He paused, smirking, and looked me up and down slowly, which caused heat to rise to my face, "had our little chat." It felt a little like I'd been sucker punched, all my air rushed out in one fell _woosh_ , and I was left dealing with the implications of that _chat_. The one that, for me, had happened in this very bar. My mouth felt dry, all of a sudden, and I couldn't look at Peter. His expression was too intense to deal with.

"I could've been lying," I muttered morosely into my cup - thank you, quiet bartender -, tipping it back with a grimace as the liquid burned my nose and throat. It was making things a little fuzzy at the edges, which I should probably have been a little more apprehensive of, given my track record for terrible, horrible life choices that involved drinking and Peter Hayes. I couldn't bring myself to care, honestly. Peter laughed quietly from beside me, a deep, rumbly kind of chuckle that didn't hold any malice, and _that_ kind of made me feel a little fuzzy, too.

"Do you laugh for everyone like that, or just me?" I wanted to grab the words as soon as I'd said them, my fingers flew up to cover my mouth, but the damage was done. Peter hissed beside me and went rigid for a moment; I considered running right then and there, just booking it all the way back to the academy and hiding, but instead I just sat there, turning to look at him. He looked unsure, maybe a little anxious, and those were vulnerable, unusual things to see on a face that almost always was composed and controlled in some kind of sneer. It made him seem..human.

"Is this where your dream took place..?" And if I wasn't just _full_ of stupid, embarrassing questions tonight. Shit. Peter's eyes snapped up to my face, widening marginally before his lids fell and hooded them into a cocky expression that was just so much more..Peter. I scowled, swirling the last contents of my glass and trying not to look at him. Which, honestly, just turned into me stealing glances at him in the mirror behind the bar, watching him stare at me. This was the most quiet I'd ever seen him, and for once all I wanted was to hear him talk. Berate me, say something awful to remind me that I hated him.

"Yeah. Right here, actually." He finally muttered, his voice a few octaves lower, but I wasn't as focused on that as I was the hand resting on my knee. My whole body went still as stone, slowly I forced myself to look at him properly, not his reflection, but _him_. His lips were parted, eyes nearly black in the low light, and his blown pupils weren't helping matters. He looked severe, and god help me, gorgeous. I bit the inside of my cheek and cleared my throat when the silent staring went on for too long, tearing my eyes away from his slow growing smile only to find that I'd finished off my drink again. Huh. Peter's fingers ghosted up my leg, similar to how he'd done in the dorm before Christina and I had our fight.

Alarm bells were blaring, all instincts told me to rip his hand away and run for cover, instead, I turned to face him, leaning one elbow on the bar, and scowling harder. I didn't trust Peter, not so far as I could throw him, but it felt like my skin was on fire where he touched me, and that was through an entire layer of denim. My heart was in my throat, pulsing a rapid tattoo, and his hand shifted up higher in a slow crawl. His eyes never left my face, expression twisted into some kind of challenge.

"I think..I need some air," My voice sounded foreign to me, unusually high and a little sluggish, but Peter only smirked and squeezed my leg gently before letting it go altogether. He pushed himself to his feet and tossed some bills on the counter, I followed suit, and then he was walking towards the Chasm. A little knot of anxiety was building, threatening to overcome this weird, hazy feeling that had me all but _floating_ along. _This is Peter_ , my brain supplied for my legs as they followed him, sounding eerily like Christina, _this is the guy who tried to kill you_ , and yet I was still walking. He crossed the bridge before I did, standing on the other side with upraised brows that made little wrinkles appear on his forehead.

I crossed over the water below with only minimal trembling, managing to stay upright and continue, despite who was waiting for me on the other side. What was I doing? Why was I following him into..into the one place I'd never been with another person, into a place designed for the kinds of things I'd never been interested in _doing_? More importantly, why did it feel like my whole body was coursing with electricity? I tripped over a half buried rock in my distraction, and winced. I was too inebriated to throw my arms up properly, so this was going to hurt _and_ make me look stupid.

My eyes closed tight as I prepared for impact with the hard, dirty ground, but instead my face hit something soft, that smelled of cigarettes and cedar. Peter's arms looped themselves around my shoulders and held me to his chest, and I wondered briefly if this counted as a hug, which made me laugh a little hysterically. We'd never even _hugged_ and here I was following him to some abandoned alcove to..what? Could I really let myself do this?

I pulled back a few inches to look up into his face, Peter was smirking down at me, which twisted in my gut somewhere between rage and affection. He tilted his head, brow furrowing again, and I swallowed hard, trying to determine what was going on in his head. He hated me as much as I hated him, right? People who hated one another didn't end up like this. I grimaced, my head swimming, it was hard to find logic when that fuzzy, warm buzz was still tingling just under the surface. Peter cocked a brow at me.

"Having second thoughts?" He seemed to realize he was still holding me and stepped back, letting me stand upright on my own. I missed his warmth, but he wouldn't get me to admit that. I screwed my mouth up into a thin line, and placed my hands on my hips with what I hoped was a determined sort of frown. I wanted to run in the opposite direction almost as badly as I wanted to be close to him. Maybe if I let myself do this, I'd be over it. I'd get the feeling out of my system and I'd be able to go back to hating him without all the other..complicated things I was dealing with.

"Like I'm going to back down and get called a coward," I snarked, aiming for humor but sounding defensive. It looked like I'd struck a sensitive spot, Peter winced.

"..You know you don't.. _have_ to do anything, right?"

Wait. What? Was that..concern? Peter looked vaguely uncomfortable suddenly, something that wasn't normal in any instance. Peter was _always_ comfortable, always confident, and cocky, and he _definitely_ didn't care about what anyone else wanted unless it directly benefited him, yet here we were. He was glaring, and looking like he might snap something terrible to make up for what he'd just said, but it didn't change the fact that he'd just cared, even if only a little. That wasn't..so weird, though, right? Terrible as he was, he didn't exactly come off as rapey - and maybe he didn't want anyone else to think he was, either.

I ran a hand through my hair and groaned, all of this thinking was giving me a headache, I was tired of over analyzing, and trying to figure out angles, benefits, pros and cons. I didn't want to probe Peter for his weaknesses, that was his expertise, not mine, and right then I just wanted..what? What did I want? I looked up at him and frowned, there was a deep bruise along his jawline that he'd earned in training, and felt the urge to touch it, press in and watch the way he'd cringe.

Without thinking about it, I crossed the distance, one hand fisted in the front of his sweater, and did just that. I pressed hard against the dark purple spot, causing him to hiss through his teeth, but where I expected to find irritation or anger in his face when I looked up, I saw..reverence - hunger. It sent a shock of electricity down my spine, which turned to fire when his fingers came up to my neck. The bruises there were fairly fresh, while I was handling being strangled better, Eric still hadn't let go of my fear of it. I didn't feel any semblance of fear - or disgust - when Peter touched them, squeezing gently at first.

His eyes were burning with anger, and something else I couldn't quite put a name to. Dark, dangerous. He pressed harder, and pain twinged at my nerves, I grimaced and bit my tongue, unsure of how we got here, how we could both possibly be so screwed up, because normal people didn't hurt one another like this - not while looking as wrecked as I was sure we looked. Peter swallowed hard and dragged his fingers down my neck, landing on my collarbone over my tattoo.

Just like that, he pulled away and started walking again, leaving me standing on my own, only a few feet from the Chasm. My heart was lodged in my throat, and it felt like my skin might actually catch fire soon. How the hell had he done all that with one stupid touch? Biting my lip, I considered going back, running, because everything about Peter was bad. Terrifying, and intense, and wholly _terrible_ , but I was starting to not mind that. I was too selfish to turn back, even for my own sanity. So I followed. Peter never even turned back, like he knew I wouldn't leave, the bastard.

To my horror, and excitement, he was waiting for me in almost the same spot I'd been in the night of the call. Had I told him exactly where I was? Surely not. But there he stood, all the same, leaned back against the wall with his hands in his pockets, watching me with a crooked smirk that pulled his features into something wholly pleasant. I needed to run, get out while I still stood a fighting chance, but my legs didn't much care about that. I stopped once I was a few inches away from him, suddenly unsure. Everything from this point on was uncharted territory, after all.

"I.." He stopped, frowning, and tried again. His voice was gravelly and dark, making me shiver despite myself, "I need to hear it from you, that..you actually want-" Another pause, more uncertainty. I found myself at odds, on one hand this nervousness in him was endearing, and on the other it was almost..irritating, but then, that was Peter. He would always be _some_ kind of irritating.

"That I actually want you.." I swallowed hard, feeling the flush of blood on my cheeks, "to touch me..? Because..I do, I want that." Damn it. My voice wasn't strong, or confident, like I'd wanted it to be, but it clearly had an effect on him all the same. Peter's mouth opened to let out a soft, strangled noise, and I found my back pressed against the cold wall of the alcove, Peters hands on either side of my head. The left corner of his mouth ticked up into a smirk.

"Fuck, Prior- T-Tris." I hissed, looking down, his face was too much, he was looking at me too strongly. "I want.." He paused, one hand trailing down to press at my throat again, and I should have felt fear, should have felt like I was in danger, or needed to run, but I just felt _ruined_. His hand was hot, next to him my skin was like ice, and I found myself leaning into the touch, which made another of those low grunts to pass Peter's lips. "I..fuck, you actually like that..?" He whispered, sounding unsure, like he'd expected me to protest. I pressed my lips together and forced my eyes up to his face, and if I _felt_ ruined, he looked destroyed.

His cheeks were flushed, eyes glazed, unable to decide between looking at me and looking at my bruises. I pressed into his touch again, moving a hand to fist the front of his sweater once more. My other hand snaked its way up the back of his neck, fingers buried in his curls, and they were exactly as soft as I'd thought they would be. Words failed me, so I opted for nodding slowly, instead. The pressure of his fingertips over the tender bruises made my nerves sing, all I could compare it to was the almost enjoyable burn in my muscles after a long, gratifying run. It sent pulses of heat through my veins, and I choked off a sob.

Peter pressed in close to me, his lips against the hollow of my throat, and he bit down, ripping a yelp from my lips. It wasn't gentle, but he didn't hurt me necessarily. Again I was struck with just how odd all of this was, how much I should have wanted it to be normal, I hadn't even had a real first kiss before, and here I was with Peter's teeth on my throat, destroying my sanity and self preservation in one fell swoop. It felt..right somehow. Like this was the kind of person I was, like nervous kisses and awkward hand holding weren't in my range of understanding.

His teeth gave way to a hot, open mouthed kiss at my pulse point, Peter's tongue laving at the sensitive skin he'd just bitten, and I gripped a handful of his hair without meaning to in response, a sharp breath escaping my lungs. Fuck. My knees felt weak, trembling when he drew his lips back into another bite, it was going to leave a mark, I knew it would. He growled low in his throat, the hand by my head dropping to grab my waist, and trailed hot, wet kisses all the way up to my ear, where he hovered, breathing heavily. It felt like there were needles all over my skin, pricking and tingling at each nerve.

"I've wanted this so bad, Tris," He whimpered in my ear - _whimpered! -_ and pressed in close, so that his chest was nearly crushing mine, and nipped at my earlobe, which, woah. I didn't even know earlobes _could_ be sexual, but it sent a shock wave from my neck all the way down to the apex of my thighs and I moaned, embarrassed at the sound, but that seemed to encourage him. Peter pressed his forehead to my temple, sounding like he'd run a mile when he'd only barely started touching me, but I felt the same.

"I wanted to push you into my bed and cover you in bruises that night, you looked so fucking good in my room," And now that he was talking, painting pictures for me, I realized with a shudder that..maybe I'd wanted that too. Somewhere deep down. "Say my name, fuck, please, please say it," Peter whined, pressing himself against me so that I could feel, without a doubt, exactly what this was doing to him. If the warm wetness between my legs was any indicator, my body was fully agreeing with him.

I swallowed hard, my throat making a quiet clicking noise in the process, and tried to say it, but it was just so _embarrassing_. Here he was, gushing his fantasies unabashed, and I couldn't even say his name. Peter's mouth latched onto my ear lobe before he bit softly at the skin, and apparently that was all I needed, because a breathy, weak, " _Fuck,_ Peter," slipped past my lips without my permission. The grip on my waist tightened. He drew his head back from my ear and pressed his forehead to mine, eyes closed, and I let mine fall shut, too. Both of us chased for our lost breath, overwhelmed, so it came as a bit of a shock when I heard a soft, angry voice snap,

"What the _fuck_ Tris?" Christina. Shit.

"God damn it," Peter growled under his breath, and I had to agree.

"Wow, really? That's..you picked _him_? Guess all that denial before was just bullshit, huh Tris?" That was Al, and oh God no. This wasn't good. Peter's entire body went rigid, his grip almost painful, and suddenly I felt like I was in the middle of a tsunami. I opened my eyes to see Christina, Al and Will, looking disgusted, livid, and embarrassed respectively.

"I'm gonna kill you, Peter!"

Fuck.

* * *

I am SO SORRY. One of these days the two of them won't get cockblocked, but right now Chris and Al are team ruin-everything.

So now we've got the split between Chris and Tris to deal with, and of course, the impending violence. 3 Can't wait to get the next chapter up, as always thank you for all your support and I appreciate all of you!


	16. Absquatulate

Absquatulate

(v) to leave without saying goodbye; the French exit

* * *

Two chapters in one month? Hoo boy I'm on a roll!

This one is a bit of a whirlwind, and I'm going to leave a warning here, there are mentions of suicide in this chapter, so if that's an issue for you you'll want to skip the first section that has a break in it down to the end of it.

For everyone else, enjoy!

OH also, I got a new tablet, so of course the first thing I did with it was draw some Petris angst for this, so if you're interested in seeing that feel free to check it out over on my a href=" post/169671327699/first-art-of-the-new-year-oops-done-for-a-fic-of" tumblr/a.

* * *

Al was flying at Peter before I could really do anything about it, other than roll out of the way a few seconds before Peter's chest - and face - slammed into the wall I'd been pressed to moments before. Had Al been willing to crush me beneath him, if I hadn't moved? Peter wheezed out a breath, - the impact seemed to have knocked the wind out of him entirely - and I felt an urge to defend him from Al's strikes that I didn't want to look too closely at. I knew this was a big deal - if I chose Peter's side here, I was going to be accused of picking him over my friends, but watching Al draw blood from his lip, hearing the sound that escaped him as it happened, twisted at something inside of me that might have been what I loved about Abnegation. A selfish itch to help, despite the consequences. Despite _who_ I was helping.

With a groan, Peter rolled himself around, pressing his spine to the wall, but he didn't throw his hands up to strike or defend, he just took in his surroundings slowly. His eyes weren't on Al, though, he was looking at me, a resigned expression on his face, and somehow _that's_ what tipped the scales - _that_ made me want to act. The thought that Peter might actually believe I'd let him -or anyone - be thrown around like that, just because the person doing it was one of my friends, twisted in my stomach. I didn't understand why he wasn't fighting back - maybe Al had surprised him before, but I'd seen him fight, had _personally_ fought him. Peter was fast, he could have dodged the blows Al was throwing his way, but he let the impacts hit. I scowled, finally finding my voice,

"Al, stop it!" I dove in, gripping his forearm mid swing, and putting him off balance, "Stop, if you're going to hit someone, hit _me_!" I don't know why I said it, but my voice was frantic, "I'm the one you're mad at, I'm the one that keeps turning you down, right?" Al's body was stiff as he looked to me, eyes wide and angry, face flushed red with rage. Peter was leaning back against the alcove, quietly observing, while Al continued looking at me like I'd just stabbed him.

"You're picking _his_ side?!" Christina cried out from behind me when Al said nothing, storming up next to me with her eyes narrowed and her mouth set into a scowl that could rival even mine. "We've been here for you _forever_ and Peter, what? He's a good fuck? He doesn't _care_ about you, we do! Stop pushing us away.."

That made Peter laugh, cackle, even, and all three of our heads snapped to his direction. His cheek was busted open below his left eye, as was his lower lip; even with everything going on, I wanted to kiss his mouth, blood and all. That was something I shoved deep into the back of my mind for later consideration, for right now I was just confused at the laughter. He shook his head and swallowed with an audible click.

"Shit. You're jealous, that's so cute." He muttered through chuckles, and I groaned; if he started antagonizing them, I couldn't defend him. This was about stopping Al from hurting him when Peter..technically had done nothing wrong. This time. That was a difficult thought to wrap my head around. " _You_ care about her," He grunted, gesturing to Will, "but I dunno about those two," Chris strode forward into his face, pressing her forearm over his throat.

"For once in your _stupid_ life, shut up, Peter. No one cares what new, idiotic thing you have to say, just stop talking while you're ahead!" To my surprise he still laughed, and the look on his face was familiar. He had this kind of..smugness about him - like he had something over everyone's heads, and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know what that was. His voice was cold, which wasn't good for anyone involved. That was the tone he used to hurt people, I'd had it used on myself too many times to count.

"Hah. As though I ever say anything idiotic," He hissed in pain when Christina used her free arm to punch him in the stomach, snickering through a pained kind of grunt,"Couldn't resist. Seriously, though, how can you say you care about Tris _so much_ , that you're all worried for her sweet sweet _innocence_ ," I frowned, looking at him sharply. How did he know about that conversation? "What? Molly's good at being sneaky when she wants," It wasn't an apology, exactly, more like an explanation. More like he was _bragging._

I wondered how much of that conversation was relayed, did he know I'd called him a psychopath? That I'd said I liked flirting with him? Surely he did, knowing Molly she would have been tickled to tell him, so they could laugh about it in private - or in public, honestly. That had been a week ago, though, and I hadn't been bothered by the terrible trio at all. Odd.

"Your boy back there, the one so _worried_ about poor little Tris getting hurt, he used to-" Peter's voice cut off in a genuinely pained grunt as Al lurched forward, and drove a fist into his face; I hadn't been able to do anything about it, Al had slipped out of my grip without even trying. There was an audible _crunch_ of fist meeting bone, and the following _thunk_ of bone meeting stone had me feeling secondhand agony for him. For a long moment all Peter could do was wheeze in ragged, sharp breaths, and blink as though dazed, but I was watching him closely now. Two parts curiosity, one part concern, because even if I'd dreamed of beating him bloody, now that it was happening all I could feel was _wrong_ , and I wasn't even guilty of hurting him.

What had Al done that was bad enough he didn't want Peter repeating it? If it was about interrupting the phone call, I already knew about that, and it hadn't been that big of a deal - not big enough to warrant the way Peter was pleased enough with himself not to be pissed over being ganged up on like this. Despite the pain, he looked like the cat that got the canary, and loathe as I was to admit it, I was a little impressed. No one could ever say he wasn't tough.

"Guys, maybe we should just..back off? This is getting a little too close to illegal - you've roughed him up, just let him go." Will's anxious voice came from behind us, and I suddenly felt sorry that he was wrapped up in all of this. I shot him a small, appreciative smile, and he managed to smile back, though he still looked wholly uncomfortable with the entire situation. I didn't blame him, I was pretty uncomfortable, too.

"Will, I know you're just trying to be the good guy here, but stop. Peter's a menace, he needs to learn a lesson." Al snapped angrily, it was maybe the most I'd heard him talk in a while, honestly, and each word just made my stomach burn more and more. Christina shot him a strange look, frowning, like she wanted to come to Will's defense, but that would mean backing off Peter, which obviously wasn't something she wanted to do. Her entire frame was tense, now, though.

"Let Peter talk." Christina's head snapped around to look at me so fast I worried she might have gotten whiplash from it, but I didn't back down. "I want to know what he has to say." He deserved the right to speak his peace, even if it _was_ Peter, "You're good at picking up on lies, right? If he's lying, you'll probably know it, so what harm comes from letting him talk? You've clearly already got the upper hand," I crossed my arms over my chest and tried not to sound too annoyed by that fact. Peter's eyes found mine, and I bit the inside of my cheek, there was a quiet sort of thanks in his gaze that set my stomach to flip flopping.

Christina thinned her lips into a line before her frame slumped a bit. She sighed, that same almost wounded look on her face, but slowly, hesitantly, she nodded. Al made a choked noise that had everyone's attention on him, he looked a bit like a trapped animal.

"Why give him a chance to lie? It's Peter, are you guys forgetting how good he is at it? He's a manipulative bastard, Chris!"

"Well, _you've_ gotten tons of chances to lie, big guy. I'm just here to tell a little bit of truth, are you that scared?" Peter clucked his tongue disapprovingly, looking back to me with a blank expression. I didn't like that, on the surface he seemed smug enough, but now that I knew what to look for, it was a bit disconcerting to see him hiding.

"Get on with it, then, and Al, keep your hands to yourself - I _mean_ it." Chris' tone was dark with warning, and I wondered if she thought his behavior was as suspicious as I did, what with how violently defensive he was being over the whole thing. That was basic psychology, and she'd excelled in Psych. Al scowled, looking like he'd swallowed something foul, but didn't say anything else.

"Are we done with interrupting me? Because you seem to have a pretty impressive talent at that-"

"Peter!" I snapped, already regretting the decision to let him speak, and from the look on Christina's face, she was, too. She at the very least took a few steps away from him, giving him some room to breathe. He stopped to rub his neck, glowering in her direction, and I wondered for a moment if he was counting that as something he'd need to pay back. I hoped not, I didn't want him to hurt her, even if she was being pigheaded and controlling about all of this.

"Fine, fine, take all the fun out of it," He grunted, looking for all the world like this was boring him, but his shoulders were rigid and his jaw was clenched, so that couldn't have been wholly true. "Well, guess the cat's out of the bag, Tris. Loverboy here is the whole reason Molly, Drew, and I started giving you so much trouble in the first place a few months ago." Peter's tone was dripping with smugness, and maybe just a touch of indignation. For a long moment I just looked at him, brows knitted together, and waited for him to say more. My entire body was tense, ready to pounce, as I tried to understand what that could have meant.

"I'm sorry? You're going to need to elaborate a little more," Christina all but snapped, and I worried that maybe Peter was going to push too far, but more than that, I needed to know what he meant. If he was shut down before he could say anything of stock, well..I'd have nothing to go on for my lack of trust in Al, other than memories no one else shared. I bit my cheek and met his eyes, trying to silently push the message across to back off. Now was not the time.

"Exactly what I said, genius. Clearly I've never been a fan of Prior,-" Peter paused to meet my eyes, brows upraised and that smug expression back in place, but his eyes were still empty, "you're a snobby little know it all, goody-goody, all that," He waved his hand with a scoff and a roll of his eyes, but barrelled on before he could be interrupted. The insults barely even phased me at this point, it was nothing I didn't already know, after all.

"Given that, it wasn't exactly a _push_ to imagine us making her life a living Hell, but there wasn't anything to gain by putting that much effort into some nobody. I mean, not until this one here," He waved towards Al in a dismissive gesture - I noted that Al's whole face was red, and there was a vein popping in the side of his neck, "Came along and offered me a deal, a little extra cash for us to make you miserable, send you running into his arms for shelter from big, bad Peter and his mean friends."

What?

"What?" Christina echoed my thoughts, "Al, is that true?" She snapped sharply, looking at him now with wide eyes. Will was staring at Al as though he'd never seen him before - and I felt the same. It felt like the ground was going to give out beneath me.

"O-of course not!"

I didn't mean to, but a scoff escaped my lips and Peter laughed, rubbing the side of his nose while looking proud, "Guess that's the part he didn't really think through, you're not exactly the run and hide type, now, are you?" Laughter bubbled up from my chest and out of my throat, high and marginally hysterical, because through it all how was it that _Peter_ knew my strength, acknowledged it, more than my own friends did? It felt like I might choke to death on my own giggles.

When Al's shoulders relaxed marginally, and he looked my way with relief in his eyes, it occured to me that, maybe, he thought Peter's accusation was _so_ hard to believe that I couldn't help but be amused. The thought knocked all laughter right out of me, like someone closed a lid on my throat.

The problem with that logic was simply that Peter had nothing to gain from lying about this, and everything to lose. It burned like bile, knowing that, knowing it as well as my own name; he wouldn't lie unless he gained something out of it. Here all he had to gain was disbelief, we were all friends, and _he_ was the enemy, why would they believe him? Why would - _should_ \- I? Christina scowled, and I heard Will softly speak my name in a question, but when a hand landed on my shoulder I jerked forward so that it fell away. Something in my stomach twisted, and churned, hot like acid. I found myself storming up to Al, and shoving him, eyes narrowed. He didn't budge, and that only made me more angry.

"Are you kidding me?! You made my life _hell_ just so you could..what? Play my knight in shining armor?" Al looked trapped, his eyes wide and his face pale, sputtering but not forming words. "Let me tell you something, Albert. I don't need you, or _anyone else_ to protect me! I'm a grown woman, fully capable of fighting for herself. Do you think I picked D-" I choked on my words and stopped, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone. I'd almost said Dauntless. The next time I spoke, my tone was ice, "I _chose_ this career because I want to be strong - I want to _protect_ other people. Get it into your head that I'm not a damsel - and just to make it all very, very clear. I'm not attracted to you, nor will I _ever_ be, you're a coward and-"

I yelped as Al lunged at me, pushing me roughly against the wall, hard enough to send a painful shock up my spine. That was probably going to bruise. A strangled gasp escaped my lips as I tried desperately to get air back into my lungs, but it felt like I was breathing in fire. His big hands were tightly gripping each of my biceps, squeezing as he gave me a hard shake that rattled my teeth. All I could do was stare up at him, mouth opening and closing as I sucked up air hungrily, somewhere between agony and shock. This was Al, gentle, _timid_ Al. Neither of those words described the man before me. There was a line of spittle in the corner of his mouth, but I didn't have long to focus on it, because he was snapping at me.

"Is this what you want? Huh? This what it takes to get you going, Tris?!" He all but growled, burying his face in my neck, and panic flooded me so intense that I could barely even feel the heat of his breath on my skin. I knew he was kissing my neck, but I couldn't quite focus on him, or anything. My hands frantically scrabbled at his chest, and tried to reach his face, to push him away. Suddenly, I was back in the training room, learning how to defend myself from Eric, but I'd never been pinned while standing up, and Al was twice as heavy as Eric could ever have dreamed of being. I was back in the Chasm, Peter's hand on my chest. I felt like I was going to be sick.

My brain was on a frantic loop, blaring a desperate need to escape. I could hear voices layering on top of one another, but my head was so foggy I couldn't actually make sense of what was being said, or who by. Shame burned through my skin as his words bounced around my skull - was that what he thought of me? Was that what _Peter_ thought of me?

As it turned out, I didn't need to worry much, because a few moments later Al was wrenched bodily backwards, though that just brought me along with him as an unwilling extra, his fingers still digging bruises into my arms. Despite the hurricane of emotions boiling around in my head, my eyes were bone dry, for which I was grateful. Grateful to Eric, as awful as it felt to admit, because he'd taught me to harden my heart when I was overwhelmed, to block it all out and focus, instead of shutting down.

Al's face was still buried between my neck and shoulder, but he was sobbing now, not attacking me. He was whispering something over and over, but I could barely make it out over the sound of his hiccups and wailing. My skin was wet with his tears. It disgusted me, twisting my stomach into tight knots of discomfort, so I shoved hard against his chest. He didn't budge, but his grip on my arms slackened to the point that I could rip myself away from him. My arms throbbed but I didn't touch them, I wouldn't show weakness to him or anyone else. His face was splotchy and wet, mouth quivering with each puff of air; all I could think was how repulsively spineless he was.

"Please, I'm sorry, Tris I'm _sorry_ , please, please," He choked out, stepping nearer to me, nose wet with snot and cheeks soaked by tears. My face felt hot, everyone was silently watching us, and I took them in, too. Peter was where he'd been before, arms crossed and mouth set into a tight scowl. Something about knowing he hadn't tried to defend me from Al felt..right. Warm, even. Like he knew I would have eventually gotten out of the situation. Christina was baring her teeth, held back by Will who was looking between Al and I with that wrinkle creased deep between his brows, like he wasn't sure what to do to remedy this situation without hurting someone.

"You're disgusting, Al," My eyes met Chris', rage still burning into my veins, and I'm sure I should have thanked her, because surely it had been her and Will who pulled him off of me, - I had a vague memory of her voice, loud and angry - but all I could think was that this was her fault. If she'd have just listened to me, trusted that I could make my own decisions, and protect myself, none of this would be happening. Maybe that called for thanks, would Peter have told me this elsewise? Would I still be trying to rekindle my friendship with Al, never knowing his newest betrayal? I set my jaw and frowned, looking back to Al, because I just couldn't trust myself to say anything to Christina that I wouldn't regret later.

"I don't want you to ever touch me again. Or talk to me, for that matter. Just..stay away from me."

"Tris.." His voice was weak, wet, pleading with me. Begging.

"If you ever come near me again, I'll kill you." I'd said something like this before, hadn't I? The memory is sort of vague and foggy, but I remembered it in a haze. Al apologizing for attacking me at the Chasm, me calling him weak, telling him I'd kill him. It was like history repeating itself. What happened after that? It's like..everything gets so clouded, like my memories used to be. Like a window coated in frost - nothing but blank whiteness. Al started forward, as though he was going to touch me again, and I reared back, growling deep in my chest.

"Get away from me!" My voice hurt on the way out, it was raw and guttural, and I almost didn't recognize it as mine.

His round eyes widened as he stopped mid step, seeming suspended as though it had only just occurred to him that I really wouldn't be able to forgive him. Of course he was surprised, he was still seeing me as a weak, gentle hearted girl who didn't have it in her to hurt anyone. I wasn't that girl - I don't know that I ever really had been, not before The Wipe and certainly not now. No. Right then all I felt was a hollow ache of loss for the death of that girl, and louder than that a hatred for the man in front of me. Not like my hatred for Peter, that was almost a being of its own design, hot and virile and electric. This was different, colder, more resigned.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted movement - it only hit me then that other people used this spot to glean some privacy, and we'd all been here having a big shouting match, it was just surprising that no one had come out sooner to complain, or just to leave. I expected strangers, but instead I recognized Four first, though he didn't look like any memory I had of him. His face was flushed, hair a mess, and his mouth was red and swollen from kisses, not punches. Nita, now _she_ was hard to recognize. Her hair was down, and her face was painted up prettily. She was showing more skin than I'd ever seen and she looked _beautiful_.

Something in me clenched and reared up at the sight of them, arm in arm, Four looking alarmed, Nita looking irritated. My stomach ached and twisted but I had no answer for it, so I searched for anything else to feel. For a long moment everyone was suspended, staring from face to face, piecing together how our instructor was here, and I'm sure _he_ was trying to decide if someone needed to be arrested, or punished, or if this was something he didn't want to be a part of at all. If the discomfort in his expression, and the pointed way he looked at everyone _except_ for me had any say in it, I was willing to bet it was the last option.

"Is there a problem here?" He finally asked, his voice low and gritty, it wasn't a tone I'd heard before, or at least not that I could _remember_ hearing, but it reminded me of Peter's voice from before, when he'd pinned me to that wall, and the notion that Nita was likely responsible for that gravel in Four's voice..it made me feel violent. Why? I bit my cheek, and snuck a look up at the instructor, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Something flittered up to the surface, vague but familiar. Sliding my hand into his in a hallway lit with dim blue lamps, a strange giddiness I'd never felt in my stomach, but it was foggy at best, and gone as quick as it came.

"No, sir, we were just leaving." I managed to say, the coldness in my tone surprising me. I could see the way Four was looking from Peter, to Al, to me, and I wondered for a moment if he remembered what they'd done to me in Dauntless. If the muscle that jumped in his jaw as he clenched it was any sign, that was probably a yes. Next to Four, Nita tensed, shooting me a hard look that I couldn't decipher, but I didn't care right then. I knew she was trying to help fix what the Bureau had done, that she and I were allies, but in that moment I wanted to break her stupid, perfect nose. A glance in Peter's direction showed that he was staring at Four with unmasked vehemence. Odd.

I needed to get away, to be anywhere but here with everyone I knew, and had known, who had forgotten and relearned me. There were just too many things to feel at once, and it was going to rip me to shreds if I stayed. I turned and walked away from everyone. They all seemed to slowly thaw out from their shock, then, and I heard Christina choke my name out in surprise, but Al and Peter were..oddly silent. I couldn't find it in me to care right then. Purposefully and tensely I stormed back across the Chasm, not stopping even as I heard Chris calling my name from behind. If I had looked back I was sure I would have seen her wriggling through the crowds trying to catch up to me, but I wanted to be alone right then.

Maybe forever.

* * *

Watching Tris was hard on a normal day in the academy, seeing her struggle here just as she'd done in Dauntless with Peter and his cronies, and with her own friends who, still, clearly couldn't seem to accept her strength was difficult. Watching her here, in what used to be Dauntless headquarters, dressed up with her eyes lined in makeup, and her skin marred by someone's mouth was agony. Even after The Wipe, she was solid steel, her entire body was practically vibrating with the unchecked power she had, and I wanted to see more of it.

Nita had been against investigating when we'd heard the shouting around the corner, at first I struggled, but her mouth is a force to be reckoned with. It wasn't until I realized it was _Tris_ shouting, her tone ranging on deadly, that I couldn't just ignore whatever was happening. It was my job to protect people, I reasoned with myself, it wasn't because it was _her_ specifically. Despite the smoldering glare I was fixed with, I left, and of course Nita followed. She'd warned me not to get close to Tris, that it would be suspicious, but ever since she'd walked into the training room I'd been itching to talk to her.

She _remembered_ things, like I did. Nita knew about our lives, sure, but she hadn't _lived_ it. If what I'd been told was true, Tris remembered a lot more than I had, without being given the memory serum. I'd had to take it to remember more than glimpses, but for some reason we hadn't given Tris any yet. Nita always dodged me when I asked, so I'd stopped trying.

Watching this version of Tris was alarming, to say the least. She didn't seem to have any of the warmth left from our days in Dauntless. It was like every last drop of Abnegation had been scrubbed away from her. All that had been left behind was that rage I'd seen the day she'd nearly beaten Molly to death, which felt like eons ago now. It honestly scared me a bit, like I was looking at Eric during initiation. Cold, calculated, and ruthless. The way she spoke to me was like she was talking to a stranger, so maybe she didn't remember me yet. Not like I remembered her - but how could she? She'd never felt anything for me, never reciprocated, and I'd never _told_ her. As far as she knew, I was just a pushy instructor.

It didn't take a genius to see the way she and Peter behaved around one another, and it boiled me alive to know that _he_ was the one that caught her attention, but that was just a testament to who this version of Tris was. Did she know he'd tried to kill her? That he'd.. _touched_ her, back then? I gnashed my teeth at the memory, glowering at both Al and Peter with equal levels of hate and distaste. There was a scar above Peter's eyebrow - I'd given it to him that night, after beating both he and Drew far past where I should have. The little nick of a scar didn't hold a candle to the one on his forearm, a crescent that would match up with Tris' mouth if she were to compare it.

Why did it have to be _Peter_?

Juanita's hand on my arm tightened, and I tensed a bit, remembering myself. I'd been staring after Tris as she stormed off, shoulders set like she carried the weight of the world on her back. Right. I turned back to the remaining three - Will, Peter, and Al. I looked right at Peter, eyes narrowed to slits, and he looked just as unhappy to see me. I wondered for a moment if he was Divergent, too. He'd never shown major signs, but how could he hold that much hate for me in the sparse amount of time he'd been around me? No that I minded, I just didn't trust him.

"What happened here?" My voice betrayed none of my rage, coming out controlled and harsh as I'd intended, and at least if I had no control of anything else in the world, I had my image as their instructor. Unbreakable and not to be challenged. Peter's entire body relaxed against the stone behind him as a smirk crawled onto his face - I thought back to watching Eric break his nose barely even a week ago. It helped quell my anger.

"Just a squabble, sir," Will answered obediently, his tone gentle and reassuring, but Peter scoffed as though he had something to say.

"What are you, eighty? A squabble. Tch. I was enjoying some private time with Tris when these assholes just showed up and started giving us trouble, _that's_ what happened!" He threw his hands up and glared, "Look at my face, that absolute freak of nature over there tried to kill me in a fit of psycho jealous rage." I rolled my eyes, he had on his soft, victim face. It still made my stomach twist uncomfortably at how _nice_ he was capable of appearing when he wanted to be. I knew better than to trust that, but that didn't change the fact that Peter _did_ have wounds, and Al didn't. Well, if you didn't count his bright red fists. I chose to ignore the nasty feeling clawing its way up my throat at the words "private time" and "Tris" being in the same sentence together, coming from _Peter_.

Al was suspiciously quiet, staring at nothing with his mouth slightly open. His nose was running and his eyes were wet, but he made no sign that he was even aware anyone was talking, let alone about or _to_ him. Will was quiet, too, looking sour at the prospect of agreeing with Peter, but he hadn't argued, so clearly he hadn't said anything that was worth disagreeing with.

"We're going to have to report this," I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed heavily. This was more paperwork than I was willing to deal with at the moment. I closed my eyes and counted to five before opening them again, fixing my glare on each of the men, one at a time. Will looked ashamed, Peter looked smug, and Al was still unresponsive. I gently shrugged Nita's hand off of me and walked up to the largest of the three, scowling.

"You'll need to come with me, Al."

He didn't even struggle, just walked a few inches ahead of me, and it wasn't until we reached the Chasm that he stopped, his entire body so still he seemed like a statue. When he looked at me, I froze; his eyes were empty and dead, shining with unshed tears, and with speed that surprised me for someone his size, he rushed for the railing. In the next breath he had gripped the metal bar and flung himself over the side.

"Shit!" I dove after him, grabbing his wrist as the rest of his body dangled like dead weight. His torso struck the side of the bridge, and I heard a repulsive cracking that could have only been his ribs. He stared up at me, eyes narrowed, and his mouth was set into a snarl. Part of me, the nasty part I spent a lot of time pushing down, wanted to drop him, but I couldn't bring myself to. A spray of cold water struck us, making his skin slick. I threw my entire upper body over the rail, gripping him with both hands and gritting my teeth.

Behind me I heard Will shouting and felt his body against my shoulder, his hands scrabbling for Al's hand, all the while more water was soaking my hands, and the large body beneath me was slipping. Will's arms were too short to be of any use, so he settled for grabbing me by the waist when I started to slide forward. I grunted in pain, water splashing up and speckling my face this time. I was confident in my strength, but Al was dead weight, and it was like a bag of rocks had been tied to my hands.

"Al, come on, help us out here," I grunted, feeling like my rib cage was going to break pressed into the metal railing like it was, but he just shook his head and brought up one big, meaty hand to push at mine. He began to wriggle and squirm, which only made everything that much more difficult. I gritted my teeth and tried to pull him up, feeling a hot, painful pop in my shoulder at the weight of him, and the angle. Nita was on my other side now, trying to talk to him, her tone gentle, but he didn't seem to notice, or care. My ribs screamed in agony as he tugged downwards, taking my breath with him. I gasped, but kept pulling, ignoring the sharp twinges of pain that came from Al's bitten nails digging into my skin, among other things.

"Let me go!" He shouted up at me, pushing again, and this time the moisture between us, mixed with his strength, was enough to dislodge me and he fell, his expression wide-eyed with surprise. I heard Will scream his name from behind me, but I couldn't tear my eyes away as he fell, hitting the rocks at the bottom. It was like someone had thrown a sack of potatoes over the side, the way he gave no resistance. I couldn't hear his bones break over the sound of music bouncing from wall to wall, but in my head I could imagine what they would have sounded like. It felt a bit like someone had punched me in the stomach. Will had let me go in favor of kneeling by the railing, gripping it with white knuckles. His eyes were screwed shut, mouth pressed into a thin line.

Part of me felt sick with the guilt of not being able to save him, part of me was glad to see him gone, and the final, coldest part of me dreaded the extra amount of paperwork this was going to mean. Maybe Tris wasn't the only one who had grown colder after The Wipe, after all. I noticed Peter close by, he'd been watching it all with morbid curiosity, brows upraised and mouth pursed into a thoughtful expression, and it twisted somewhere in my gut just how well he would have fit in with Eric and the other Dauntless, if he'd made it through initiation.

He brushed past Will and I without so much as a parting word. I couldn't bring myself to go after him, writing them up for a fight just wasn't important when I had a death on my hands.

* * *

Telling Tris what Al had done had been something I'd been itching to do for a while now. I'd imagined it over and over again, sometimes it was a gentle confession to earn her trust, others it was a violent strike to her pride, a quick move to tear the rug from under her, make her trust even less than she already did. I never imagined it would come up in front of him, though. Not like it had, and I didn't expect to see her raw rage like that, either. When Al had gone after her, I'd almost launched myself at them, but I didn't. I _had_ to watch her - I needed to know how she'd respond; was he right? Did she cow to any man who pushed her around, and made her feel small, or was it really just me?

There was a welling of pride in my chest as I watched her snarl and bow up like a feral cat. She didn't need my protection, if she did, I don't think I'd have been attracted to her, honestly. Her hatred for him was a surprise, too. I'd expected some anger, yeah, some threats, but I hadn't really pictured her shutting him out entirely. I had to smile - it was beautiful to see under all that goodness there really was a black rage like mine. She wanted to hurt people just as much as I did. What I _really_ didn't expect, though, was how much it bothered me that she looked at the quiet instructor from the academy like he'd hung the moon, then at his companion like she'd personally offended her, solely by existing.

 _Oh._

I wasn't jealous. Territorial, maybe, but not jealous. I still wanted to break the guy's bones for making her look at him in ways _I'd_ only managed with alcohol, and seduction, up until now, regardless of the _why_. All he'd done was step around the corner and she'd _melted_ for a moment. My teeth ached with how hard I ground them together to keep my mouth shut, and that feeling followed me all the way up until I watched Al lurch unceremoniously off of the bridge. That improved my mood some, and gave me a better reason than finishing what we'd started to find Tris. Though, to be honest, finishing what we started was a _great_ idea on its own, if you asked me. If she brought even a fraction of the anger I'd just witnessed into the bed, oh fuck. It had me half hard just at the prospect.

By the time I got back to the academy, I was calmer than I had been in the Pit. As badly as I wanted to claim every inch of her, to keep what had happened earlier going, I stood to gain more from her by telling her about Al's death. She didn't strike me as someone who needed consoling, but on the off chance that she _did_ , I could only imagine what it would do for me to be the one she cried on. I could get her to trust me- and why did I care so much about that? The feeling tingled through me like lightning, but not in the usual, sexual way. No, this was something else entirely, and I hated the sensation. It was dangerous.

I found her in the dorms, her pale back exposed, only broken by the thin black line of a bra. In that moment I took in the damage she'd been hiding. Her ribs were wrapped, and her milky skin was more purple and yellow than white, in a flash it was gone as she pulled her uniform top on. I hesitated, taking a few steps back to exit the room entirely. It felt like someone had doused me in ice water, freezing through my veins and settling in my heart. I'd wait. If she wasn't changing into something to sleep in, she planned on training, which didn't really come as a surprise, but it _did_ give me the opportunity to follow her. Maybe I could figure out who it was that kept putting those bruises on her body. Rage was pulsing through my veins, loud and violent. I'd kill whoever dared mark her up like that - she was my canvas, not theirs.

Tris stormed down the hall without noticing me, which was a nice surprise, so I followed. I stayed back far enough away that, if she did decide to look over her shoulder, I could duck into a doorway, or another hall, but the caution turned out to be unnecessary. Tris moved like a whirlwind of rage, violently determined, not stopping until she barreled right into the training room door. It slammed behind her, bouncing a few times with the force. I'd gotten this far before, and usually by the time I made it to the door, it was already locked, so I ran forward, shoving it open to find the room dark, and empty, save for Tris.

Huh.

It made sense that she wouldn't be training with the mystery officer - it was an off day for recruits, so they probably had jobs to do, or maybe they were off, too. I suddenly felt immensely stupid for not thinking so earlier, but it was too late to compose myself; Tris was staring at me, looking surprised. Maybe she'd expected me to be her training partner, and for some reason that set a fire in my gut, filling me with the unhealthy sort of rage that had led to me bashing her head into this very floor. I schooled my face into something softer, going for compassionate, but not overly so; she wasn't an idiot, she knew better than to fall for the gentility I could pull over other people's eyes. The anger was still there, boiling away, but I tamped it down, repurposed it into hurting her in a different way.

I needed to gain her trust here, if I wanted to have any chance of worming my way into her bed, _then_ I could bruise her body, leave _my_ marks.

"Peter," She didn't accuse me of anything, just said my name like a question, like she wasn't sure of anything, which was just as surprising as it was sort of..sad. It was a drastic change from the hateful way she usually addressed me - though, I admittedly missed the fire in her tone a little bit.

"Tris," I mumbled, still feeling a little squeamish at using something as intimate as a nickname with her. I took a few steps forward, letting my shoulders slump slightly. Her eyes widened, as though it only just hit her that I had some kind of bad news, that I wasn't here to attack, or brag. She frowned, then, walking forward cautiously, wary of any trick I might have up my sleeve. It annoyed me as much as it made me feel accomplished. I wanted her to come to me without hesitation, but I also wanted her to fight me until we were both bloody; it was hard to decide which I craved more. I bit down on my cheek and swallowed, trying to figure out the best way to start this. One look at her reminded me; the bruises, her strength, her _power_. She didn't need to be coddled.

"Al is dead," The only sound from her was a sharp intake of breath, her eyes roamed over my face, staring intently, like she was looking for some sign I was lying. It took everything in me not to smile, this was a serious moment, smiling would make me look sadistic. While we both knew that I was, it wouldn't do me any favors to remind her of it right now. She swallowed hard, wiping her palms on the front of her shorts. That was pain on her face, odd. Even after what he'd done, she still cared enough to hurt for his loss?

"He..what? How?"

"He..he threw himself over the rail, back at the Pit," It was as easy as breathing to let my voice soften, to hesitate, sound like the thought bothered me, "I saw it happen..one minute he was walking with that trainer, the next he was over the side. Will and the guy," I paused, raising a hand to put it on her shoulder - she looked like she was having a hard time hearing this, her chest was rising and falling rapidly. "They uh, they tried to save him, but he just..didn't _want_ to be saved." Her dark eyes were glossy, but the tears didn't spill. I had a feeling some part of her, the good part I wanted to crush out of existence, was feeling guilty, blaming herself for his death.

"..Oh,"

She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaking breath; I watched her throat bob gently with each swallow. After a few silent seconds I found myself closing the distance, pulling her small frame to my chest, and holding her there. To my surprise, she only stood ramrod for a moment before her arms coiled around my back, her fingers burying themselves into my shirt. I didn't want to think too much about how warm that made me feel. I leaned my head against hers, closing my eyes and breathing her scent in - soap, alcohol and citrus - for a long moment. My brain was yelling danger at me, this was too tender, too close, too _vulnerable_ , but I couldn't pull away.

We stood like that for a long time, I couldn't tell you how long honestly, but at some point my fingers found their way into her hair, which was still down, and I'd been carding them through it. Her head wound up cradled under my jaw, and her tense shoulders had begun to relax. Eventually, as all good things do, it had to end, though. Neither of us were the tender, hugging type, after all. Slowly she pulled back, hands clenched in the material of my shirt by my ribs on each side, and looked up at me with bloodshot, but bone dry eyes, which I silently praised her for.

"I can't believe he's..gone,"

"I'm..sorry," It was hard to say, because I wasn't, but I tried to imagine if I'd lost Molly or Drew, it would be unfortunate, really, "I know you two were..close, until tonight.." That made her pull back. Damn. That was too much, she knew how little I cared about..well, pretty much anything that didn't directly benefit me. That fire was slowly building behind her eyes, not that I minded, the dull, sad expression from before wasn't one I preferred to see in her. Tris' mouth twisted into a scowl. I preferred her to be burning - if she snuffed out, I wanted it to be because of me, not Al.

"What do you want from me, Peter?" Her voice was a ghost, quiet, unsure. It twisted in my stomach, twirling my insides like noodles. That was the million dollar question, wasn't it? The one I'd been asking myself almost constantly since she'd come and messed up my entire world. What did I want from all of this, what did I gain? I wanted her broken, ruined, all the goodness gone - I wanted her naked and writhing under me - and I wanted her to stand with me, better than everyone else, which shocked me enough to let my arms drop back to my sides. I'd only ever had room for Molly and Drew in my future, the one that had been set in stone forever. Longer than forever, but..could I have _her_ in it, too? Did I want that?

"I don't know." The words surprised me, the truth in them was mortifyingly bare, open for her to see. I didn't know. I had no fucking clue why I wanted to touch her so much, why I wanted more than to just shatter her, or fuck her, and have it done with. It was maybe the most terrifying realization I've ever had. I wanted..permanence from her.

"..I don't know, either," She muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, like she needed to defend herself from me by looking bigger. Tris looked..vulnerable. I swallowed hard, and ignored the urge to close that gap between us again. This was big - I couldn't just go around letting my feelings control me like this. It would ruin me. _She_ was going to ruin me.

"..I think," Her eyes snapped up to look at me, begging for an answer I didn't know if I even _had_ , "I don't want us to be on opposite sides." Now that I was talking, the words were coming out too quickly, I wanted to shove them back in but couldn't, "I don't know if I want you like, _you_ you," I gestured to her as a whole, wanting to pace, but settling for burying a hand in the hair at the base of my neck, instead, "Or if I just _want_ you," Her eyes narrowed for a moment, but then she nodded, which surprised me. I expected anger, indignation, but she seemed to _get_ it, which was sort of amazing and awful at the same time. It meant she was on the same level of fucked up as I was. I shouldn't have enjoyed that as much as I did.

"I hate you, Peter. So much. You're..insufferable, and an absolute ass, with some _serious_ issues but," She frowned, tightening her arms and rolling her shoulders in a shrug, suddenly unable to meet my eyes. Interesting. "I don't know. I guess..I kind of like how it feels, around you. Like, you know I'm not going to just..break, if you push me the wrong way." I couldn't help the grin that pulled at my lips, and as much as I wanted to snark, I kept my mouth shut. "Everyone else thinks I'm made of glass - and..maybe you're cruel for it, but you keep pushing when they say I'll break. It's..it makes me _feel_ strong." The way my heart jumped was a giant red flashing light telling me to get the fuck out, but I couldn't move my feet.

"I can't keep holding what happened against you - you've..apologized, which is a shocker in and of itself and, I..I still can't stand you. I still hate that you did that to me - that you did it in front of _them_ and made me look weak," Her tone was acid, and I focused on that, instead of the way my heart was twisting at her words, "But..I need to try and forgive you, I guess." Of all the things she could have said, I hadn't really expected that. Forgiveness? My chest ached, I needed to back out of this, things were getting beyond my control here.

"I still owe you for the concussion," She laughed, pressing a hand to her face as her shoulders shook, but it didn't last very long. Her hand fell, and she looked up at me, expression serious. Her gaze flickered from my eyes to my mouth and back up again, or did I just imagine that?

"You're so fucked up, Peter"

"So are you,"

Tris hesitated a moment, long enough for me to think maybe she was going to haul off and punch me, but then she gripped the front of my shirt and dragged me down to her level. Her chin jutted upward, nose bumping into mine, but ultimately she fitted her mouth over mine and my stomach did a backflip. Tris tasted like liquor, and something fruity. Her lips were warm and chapped, uncertain, but they shot electricity down my spine and through each vein in my body. I gripped her waist and crushed her chest into mine, returning the kiss. I was done for. Well and truly fucked, because my heart was fucking _soaring_.

I moved to lick into her mouth, swiping my tongue against her lower lip, and she shuddered, pulling back then, to stare up at me with a flushed face, and glazed eyes. Fucking beautiful. Part of me expected another interruption, the entire world seemed tied to the understanding that I needed to be cock blocked at all possible moments, but the room stayed blissfully quiet. I dragged my tongue over my lips, and ignored how tingly everything felt. The girl was destroying me, and I couldn't even begin to try defending myself from it.

"There," She finally said, breathless, "that shut you up." I quirked a brow and leaned in again, brushing my lips over the nape of her neck, but she pulled back and away from me, hands clenched into fists at her sides. I groaned quietly, wanting nothing more than to just pin her to the closest available surface and claim her, until she was raw and weak, but instead I stood where she'd left me. Feeling..jilted, of all things. This girl was a goddamned roller coaster, and I didn't know if I wanted another ride or if I wanted to run in the opposite direction as fast as possible.

"Take me on a real date - that'll make us even."

 _Fuck._ Another ride, yeah. That's what I wanted.

"I think I can handle that," I muttered quietly, surprised at her choice; I had fully expected her to punch me, and if the confused look on her face was anything to judge by, she was, too. There was an annoying tingle running through my limbs that had little to do with the aching need to take her right in the middle of the training room. After a moment, she took a few steps back, crouching into a fighting stance, which made me wonder if she'd come to her senses, and planned to kick my ass after all.

Or try to, anyway.

"Now spar with me, I need a distraction," I grinned at her confident smirk, shrugging out of my jacket, and letting it fall to the floor in a puddle before I matched her stance. I wasn't going to hurt her tonight, not like I'd done before, but if she wound up with a few fresh bruises from me, I wasn't going to apologize for it by any means.

"You could just let me finish what we started, _that_ would be a great distraction, in my opinion, good workout, too" I hummed out, and was met with a sharp jab that I nearly didn't dodge for my efforts. She laughed, though, so at least I wasn't in too much trouble. I didn't miss the way her eyes shifted away, though, or how she blushed; even in the low light it was easy to see her dark cheeks, but I wasn't given much time to enjoy the small victory, because she was coming at me again. This felt odd, the playful strikes each of us passed off. Unnatural, even, but I was enjoying it too much to look closely, so instead I lunged forward to send a light punch toward her stomach. To my surprise, she twirled around my fist and wound up behind me, hitting me in the side in something that barely passed as a swat. If fighting could be flirting, it would feel a bit like this.

"Too slow~"

I turned to face her, surprised to find a laugh on my lips, and she dove for me. This continued for several minutes, each of us trying to land hits, but nothing harder than a light stinging punch, passing off taunts. At one point she got into my guard, leaning in close like she was going to kiss me again, and I stupidly fell for it. Literally. The next moment she hooked her foot around my ankle and I hit the mat, letting out a quiet _oof_ for my troubles. It should have bothered me how light and happy I felt despite her trick. Sparring with Molly and Drew in our spare time always ended in busted lips and snarled insults, but this was nice. Before I could get up, Tris pinned me, sitting herself firmly on my stomach.

"Ha! That's what you get for letting your guard dow-woah!"

I spun us, rolling her beneath me, though I rested myself between her legs rather than straddling her, forearms pressed to the mat on either side of her head. Tris gaped up at me, wide-eyed and flushed, and all I could do was grin. I wanted to kiss her - and now I _could_. Her arms stayed splayed above her head as she peered up at me curiously. I leaned in, brushing my nose against hers, and murmured quietly, close enough to feel her breath on my lips,

"Who's guard is down, now?" She groaned and closed her eyes, a deep redness painting her face, so I dipped my chin down and crushed her mouth with mine, claiming it desperately. The second time was just as electric as the first. The feel of her leaning into me, kissing back feverishly, went straight to my dick, and I groaned into the kiss. Without really meaning to, I ground my hips into her and enjoyed the way her lips parted to mewl; I took advantage of her moment of weakness to dip my tongue past her teeth. Her hands shifted from the mat to grip my back, fingers digging in, so I rocked my hips forward again.

She shuddered, bowing her back to grind into me, and that was something I'd only _dreamed_ of feeling. I pulled back from her mouth with a soft _pop_ , panting for breath, and pressed my forehead to hers. Tris' eyes were closed as she sucked in breath after breath, her fingers still clutched tight. Her pink tongue darted out to lick at her lips before she finally opened her eyes and looked up at me. Vulnerable wasn't a word I'd use to describe her very often, but it fit in that moment.

"Did you.." She started, sounding soft and uncertain, and _fuck_ that was going to be my undoing. "Did you really..want me, back then?" Shit. I'd been hoping she'd forgotten that. Why did I have to be so mouthy when it came to sex? For a long moment I weighed my options, but I was here, between her legs, with the taste of her mouth on mine. I was already in too deep, there wasn't any going back that didn't involve never being here again, and I wasn't willing to give that up just yet. We'd only just started - I couldn't live with myself if I screwed up and went a lifetime not knowing what it was like to be her first, what she looked like when she came, wrapped around my cock.

"Shit. Yeah, I did, badly. I wanted to pin you to the counter in the bathroom, to my bed, anywhere really, and when you hit me," My voice was wrecked, and I ground myself against her again, fully hard now as I thought back to that night, of how easy it could have been, " _Fuck,_ I meant it when I said you're sexy when you hate me, Tris. I wanted to do _bad_ things to you," Another roll of my hips, and she moaned, a sound that was like heaven to my ears. Her hands tightened against my back, I could feel them digging almost painfully.

"I wanted to kiss you," She mumbled breathlessly, "that night, on the date, I wanted to kiss you in your car. I.." Tris blushed prettily, "I should have gone home with you," That did terrible things to me, and I felt just as much of a pull in my chest as I did between my legs. How dare she do this to me? "And..in the med bay, I wanted you to.." The blush darkened, and she looked unsure, nervous suddenly, "I wanted you to touch me, to..stay," Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper, but it made my dick twitch, and I pressed myself harder into her, desperate for more than just dry, tactless rutting.

" _Fuck,_ " I hissed, closing my eyes and burying my face in her neck.

"Peter," She whimpered, and then again, but less breathless, more uncertain, and when I dragged my lips up her pale throat and kissed there, her hands disappeared from my back, worming their way between us, and she pushed, her voice stern verging on irritated, " _Peter_ stop." No two words had ever felt more like a punch to the gut than those. I groaned in frustration and pulled back to look at her, my need for release verging on painful at this point. Her face was pinched into a strange expression.

"What now?" I pressed my hands to the mat on either side of her shoulders, tried not to scowl, and puffed out a quiet breath of irritation. Tris' eyes narrowed into slits, and she pushed harder on my chest, squirming now; when I didn't budge she shoved her fingers into the joints of my elbows, sending me forward; during my fall Tris managed to roll to the side and free herself, leaving me lying face down with a grunt of irritation. I twisted around to face her, watching how quickly she got to her feet, face flushed and eyes narrowed.

"I said stop, Peter."

"What the fuck is your deal?" I snapped, and I shouldn't have, I was burning bridges quicker than I could build them, but that had always been my specialty. I jumped to my feet and watched her flinch, but she didn't move away, she set her jaw and threw her arms up defensively and..oh. _Oh._ Did she think I was going to attack her?

"What the fuck is _my_ deal? You're the one who can't have a single interaction with me that doesn't end in you trying to have sex with, torture, or _kill_ me, Peter!" She snapped, looking equal parts afraid and furious. And..okay, that stung a little bit. She was right, though. That didn't make the aching hard on in my pants any less prominent or painful, though, and that just pushed me to be even angier. I just wanted to get off, already, couldn't she understand that? No, of course not, she was little miss pure, after all.

"You're such a goddamn tease, Prior. Truth is you're a coward, aren't you? You're in your twenties and you've never even dated -" I paused, frowned, and then felt a smirk pulling at the corners of my lips as I put two and two together. She scowled at me, but I continued anyway, "Was that your first kiss, before?" She didn't have to tell me, her face told enough in the way it dropped, in the way she drew her lower lip between her teeth, how her jaw clenched tight, "Oh my god it was. You're-"

"Enough, Peter! God. Why did I think this would work? I'm such an idiot - I-I actually thought you-" She stopped, flinched, and then set a cold, hard stare in my direction, any vulnerability from before gone now. "Forget the date, that was a stupid thing to say. I'm choosing to break your nose, that'll make us even, and you won't need to talk to me, come near me, or touch me, ever. Again." It took everything in me not to flinch - my chest hurt, and I didn't want to think about that, about why her words physically hurt. Instead I scowled right back at her. Dismantling the roller coaster seemed like a better idea, now, taking it down one bolt at a time. Screw running.

"You know, I thought you'd grown up a little bit, matured some, but you're still a petulant little girl under all that bravado." I needed to shut up. I was making everything so, so much worse - I could still taste her lips on mine, and every word that came out of my mouth was driving a wedge between me and my chances of tasting them ever again. "I just..let me take you on the date, alright? It'll be pricey, and I'll do whatever you want," God I sounded pathetic, but apparently she did that to me. Tris' eyes narrowed as she looked me up and down, arms still held up in defense. My shoulders slumped, and I didn't really mean to say it, but the words came out anyway,

"Stop looking at me like I'm going to lunge and hurt you. I'm not..that's not..what this is." She laughed, cold and nasty, a noise I appreciated as much as I hated. Her cruel side was beautiful, but it was pointed at me, and for once, I didn't want it. I wanted..god, I wanted her to look at me like she looked at that trainer.

"Oh, and what _is_ this, Peter? You come in here to tell me my friend is _dead_ -"

"Friend? He had me torture you just so he could play _hero_ , Tris!"

"Oh shut up, don't go acting like you didn't enjoy yourself. You of all people do _not_ get to argue morals. You came in here and gave me that news, and you expect me to want to have _sex with you_?! On a dirty practice mat, no less! You're disgusting and shameless, Peter."

"You seemed pretty into the idea a few minutes ago, so does that make _you_ shameless, too?"

"Al is _dead_ , and I'm to blame, for the love of christ! I know you don't have a heart, but you could at least _pretend_ to. You're such a sociopath."

"At least I'm _honest_ about what I want. I don't let other people decide who or what I am," She scoffed, rolling her eyes and dropping her guard in favor of crossing her arms over her chest again. It looked a bit like she was hugging herself this time, not trying to look bigger, and I hated the part of me that wanted to go to her, hold her, make it all better. I wasn't that person, I didn't know how to do those things, but god damn it she made me _want_ to.

"Don't you, though?" Her voice was quieter, sad, even. "I just..I want to be alone, right now. Give me at least that much, you owe me that."

I thought about staying. Of crossing the room and fitting my mouth to hers, but my feet turned towards the door and I heard her release a deep breath. It was stupid to think we could find some kind of even ground, despite the chemistry, we were too different. Too violent. It didn't make me want her any less, but for now the only way I'd be getting between her legs would be by force, and I didn't want _that_ to be how it happened.

"Just..think about the date, please," Where the hell was that coming from? Peter Hayes didn't say _please_ like that, I wasn't him, she'd ruined both of us, it seemed.

"Peter..just..go away." I didn't turn to look at her, I didn't want to see the look on her face that matched how shattered her voice was. I'd done that, and for once, I didn't feel proud for it. Tris didn't return to the dorm, not while I was awake, at least. While I still had some privacy, I had to settle for the comfort of my hand, and I hated her for it, but it was still her face, her body, that pushed me over the edge. Her voice whining in my ear. That night I dreamt of bruised, pale skin, and my name on her lips.

I woke knowing I'd do anything to get back in her good graces - and that I had to talk to Molly and Drew. It wasn't until I got a good look at the dorm that two things hit me - her bunk was still immaculately made as it had been when I'd come in that night, and her things were gone.

* * *

I'm the actual worst I'm so sorry oTL

But heeey we finally got our kiss - AND some actual dialogue between the two building towards understanding...although I guess that's one step forward and several feet back.

So for those of you who wanted to see more about the Bureau, don't worry. Things are about to get more interesting. The next chapter is going to be entirely in Peter's point of view, and we're getting very very close to finishing up this part of the series, I'm so excited to move on to the third and final installment!

As always, thank you so so much for your kind words, I hope I can keep everyone invested and happy!


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